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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23520007">That Carnivorous Dark</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cers/pseuds/Cers'>Cers</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>How To Save A Wizard [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aiming to be gruesome ngl, Angst, Caleb-centric, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, EGTW spoilers, Exposure Therapy Turnt Up to 11, Graphic Imagery, Jail Break!, M/M, Multiple Narrators, Relationship is as it is in canon with heavy implications to romantic feelings, Rescue Attempt, Started writing during the hiatus, Vergesson Sanatorium, from 99 onwards, ignores all canon Traveller Con and Rumblecusp shenanigans, other minor pairings if you squint, prepare for pain, will update tags as I go</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:08:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>88,169</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23520007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cers/pseuds/Cers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Returning to Rosohna after a successful,  relaxing Travellercon**, the Mighty Nein check in on their recently unveiled friend.  </p>
<p>However their celebrations turn sour when they realise that he's nowhere to be found, and likely somewhere very haunting to their own wizard...</p>
<p>**Started writing during CR Hiatus, does not contain spoilers or canon events from 100 onwards</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>How To Save A Wizard [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2036797</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>443</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>531</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Fear Realised</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The only sounds coming from the room were the quick rhythmic pacing of his boots on the floor, and the heavy breaths exhaling through his nose. His jaw aches with all the clenching, his palms bearing crescent marks from held tension. He knows Fjord and Beau are tracking his movements, but he doesn’t care. His mind is filled with buzzing ever since- </p>
<p>Jester is sitting in the middle of the war room, cross-legged on their second-hand table. Her hair sticks out at angles from all the times she ran her hands through it. Items and peculiarities were dotted around her, and the perfume of Caduceus’ incense from earlier attempts still permeated. Caleb felt dizzy, in all truth, but he wasn’t sure if it was the air or the situation. </p>
<p>A quick glance to his friend revealed her face scrunched, and sweat beading from her blue hair. They’d tried <em> so </em> hard. For <em> days </em>. The dark bags beneath his eyes would attest to that. </p>
<p>Essek was a private man in many ways, and usually Caleb respected that. Now it only brought frustration. They had returned from Travellercon sated, happy, and de-stressed, triumphant about the success of Peace Talks and good times had at Rumblecusp. Upon arriving in Rosohna however, and reaching out to Essek - their <em> friend </em>- found no answer, no response, and no sign of the man. Not-so-casual inquiries with court officials supplied answers that only heightened their dread.</p>
<p>Essek hadn’t been seen in over a week. </p>
<p>They’d turned his towers upside down, what little they could gain access to. Jester’s messages yielded nothing. Her scrying so far yielded <em> nothing </em>. Caduceus’ own attempts were fruitless. Even Fjord’s attempted Commune gave vague, unhelpful answers. </p>
<p>To say they were unnerved  a little bit was an understatement. </p>
<p>Caleb had seen the frown and furrowed looks from Beau and Veth. He saw their downturned mouths, biting back their remarks. He knew their stances on the drow. But he appreciated their silence. When Essek’s disappearance came to light confirmed, he had stilled, expecting a frosty retort from one of them. Yet his caution haltingly melted away as not so much as a <em> ‘told you so </em>’ reached his ears. </p>
<p>It didn’t settle the feeling of ill in his stomach. </p>
<p>A cry of anguish breaks his reverie and Jester is hunched over herself, face in her hands. </p>
<p>“I- I can’t- “ she hiccups. “I just can’t get <em> through </em> .” Her hands fly away from her face, now transformed into an expression of rage and she bangs the table, shaking her trinkets. “I can <em> feel </em> him! But there is something <em> blocking me </em>!” Another frustrated growl tears from her. </p>
<p>Caleb has stilled at that, mind whirling. Beau beats him to voicing the thought. </p>
<p>“Does it feel like when your scry on Vence-Greg pushed you away?” </p>
<p>Jester looks sharply to her, before settling to a thoughtful expression. Her shoulders remain tense, and hunched. Licking her lips, she replies, “uh, yah. Kinda? Like I’m being ejected before reaching him. Maybe? Yeah, now that you mention it, it is familiar,” she’s nodding along. </p>
<p>Caleb meets Beau’s quick glance, his face schooled to something he hopes is ‘calm’. She sees right through it. Hesitantly, she asks him a silent question. He nods. </p>
<p>“Jessie, could you … maybe try scrying on Caleb? See if it’s the same feeling?” </p>
<p>Jester looks a little confused, with a tilt of her head. “Oh...okay? It’ll take me another ten minutes or so.”</p>
<p>Beau nods. “That’s fine. After that I’ll stay near Caleb then you try scrying on me.” Jester confirms her involvement again, with a pinched expression already setting up for her next attempt. Beau leaps up from her seat and jerks her head at Caleb. “Come on, Widogast. Let’s take a walk.” Veth watches them go, but says nothing. </p>
<p>His feet follow on their own, his mind connecting far-reaching dots he’d rather <em> not </em>. </p>
<p>Beau is silent as they walk downstairs to the kitchen. With a gentle shove on his shoulder she sets him down in a dining room chair - one of many mismatched, various-sized ones. All purchased from an odds-and-end market in the Gallimaufry. He was plonked unceremoniously in Yasha’s chair- a woven wooden piece with no arms, painted in intertwining black and white vines by Jester. It held him strong. He needed it, his mind spiralling.</p>
<p>He sat there limply, only starting when Beau slammed a cup of water in front of him with a bit too much force. She winced, mumbling an apology and took up a seat beside him in her own chair. He looked at the settling ripples in the goblet, wishing his mind would mirror it. “Drink,” she said, lacing her fingers together and crossing her legs.</p>
<p>He didn’t have the wherewithal to argue, so took a sip- and realised just how neglecting he’d been of himself these last few days. Parched, he downs the cup, not caring for the dribbles that wet his unshaven face or unchanged clothes. </p>
<p>Beau watches him steadily, and then wordlessly goes to refill it when he finishes. He drains that one too with a gasp. </p>
<p>After a short amount of time, sitting in strained silence with Beau’s fingers galloping frantically on the tabletop, and Caleb desperately wishing for Frumpkin, footfalls thunder from above and down the stairs, looking through doors. </p>
<p>“It felt the same!” Jester cries seeing them. Her hair is damp now, face shining with effort. Some of the others joined behind her. </p>
<p>“What does it mean?” Veth asked, squeezing to the front. </p>
<p>“It means,” Caleb starts, his voice cracking. “That it is very likely he is in the presence or someone with one of these.” Out from his clothes he pulls a long cord with an orange stone, complete with a closed eye embedded in it, dangling on the end. He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “It means,” he takes a shaky breath. “That the Cerberus Assembly may have him somewhere in the Empire.”</p>
<p>He’s already gathered a list in his mind of possible holdings. None of them good. Two or three in particular. A final one he is terrified to even entertain.   </p>
<p>They wait a day, despite Caleb’s growing chagrin, to test again. Caleb is barely rested and frazzled. He only slept last night he thinks, because Caduceus put something soothing in his tea. Caduceus had told him as much, in his upfront way, and Caleb had downed the lot. He woke up covered in a blanket on one of their couches in the War Room. Their map of the Empire was pinned to a wall, his frenzied writing and circles all over as he tried to hash out possible places Essek might be. Zadash, Rexxentrum, Deastock, the <em> north-  </em></p>
<p>Yasha is resting in another chair, ankles and arms crossed, eyes closed. Veth curled up at his feet, snoring faintly. Beau was resting at the end of the couch on the floor, one leg pulled in towards her, arms loosely looped around it. She stares blankly ahead, lost in thought. They say nothing as they all awake and ready for the day. Frumpkin has returned from his orders to scout the city, the Bastion, the Tomes- anywhere Essek has been, might be, or… just <em> anywhere </em>. His familiar gives a soft, sad mew and regret fills his mind. Caleb holds Frumpkin very tightly to his chest. </p>
<p>Jester rests and after attempts a scry on the Bright Queen. As expected she is expelled due to magic on her, and Jester <em>swears</em> there’s a difference between that and being ejected because of the amulet. Caduceus attempts on Essek once more, then on Caleb to get a feel for the Rejection. It’s not until the fourth day, during yet another scry when a low-spirited Jester leaps from her cross-legged position, standing precariously on the table with her eyes glazed over.</p>
<p>Her mouth is a large, round ‘o’, and the blank gaze does nothing to stem the watery sheen to her eyes. Her hands are shaky, and outstretched before one snaps to clasp her mouth. </p>
<p>“He- he’s here!” she mumbles through her fingers. “I ha-have him! Oh, <em> no </em> . No, no, <em> no-! </em>” </p>
<p>And every single word is an ice shard in Caleb’s chest. </p>
<p>“Details, Jess! What do you see!” Beau cries sharply, eyes lasered on Jester with one arm outstretched in case Jester toppled. </p>
<p>“It’s, um- oh man. It’s so dark, and there’s chains- and it’s … brick? I think? Dark red brick- or maybe brown? It’s so <em> d-d-dark </em> here.” Her words come in chokes and gasps, but her nose scrunches as she squints and leans forward dangerously. Beau manoeuvers around the table to compensate. “He’s- he’s here! Alive! His hands are in chains and he’s bleeding, not moving- oh!” her voice gives way to a sob, but she sniffs loudly and presses on. “He- he, oh, he looks <em> bad </em> you guys. Really, really bad. We <em> have </em>to get him, we have to find him!” </p>
<p>“Jester focus, can you see around the room? Is there anything else that you can make out?” Fjord jumps in, face steeled and Jester straightens hearing it. </p>
<p>“I- I don’t know.” she spins on the spot, the table wobbling. Beau actually climbs the table and hovers her hands around her from the back. Jester looks around, frantically. “No! It’s just a cell of some kind. Stone, brick, red, chains. No one else is here. There’s-” she squints once more. “There’s a door I think, but there’s so little light! Urgh!” she stamps her foot in frustration, tears rolling freely. Then she gasps. “Wait! Shh! I hear something!” she turns her head, listening intently. No one else so much as breathes. “There’s-” and she blanches, flinching into Beau’s hands. Her next words are a whisper.</p>
<p>“There’s screaming. Al-” she shudders. “Almost like someone is being tortured.” She’s paled, her form almost crumpling in Beau’s arms. “Wait there’s- I hear footsteps. They’re getting louder!” She’s tilting her head again, listening intently. “Keys! They’re coming in here! Yes that is a door- oh it’s opening! Oh no, <em> Essek- </em>!”</p>
<p>And then her scry is ended, hands flying to cover her face and Beau secures her balance. She cries in pain, probably from the light change in her vision as she is ejected out and there’s a collective wince of concern. Caleb swears for a second he sees a green hand rest on her shoulder delicately, but has no time to contemplate it as his voice delivers his statement flatly. </p>
<p>“I know where he is.” He’s looking at a spot on the table, by Jester’s stockinged feet. Surely enough, each further description given from Jester’s vision crossed one more location off of his mental list. Until he reached the end of it. </p>
<p>He knows those walls. He knows those wails. He’s heard them before. <em> Lived </em>there before. His face twists into a sardonic sneer. ‘Lived’ isn’t the right word for what he did there. ‘Existed’ would only be half-correct. ‘Survive’ would imply intent. </p>
<p>He would wager his own ‘room’ still bore the scratches of his fingernails alongside all the others. If someone were to look in his body they would find a slightly crooked shoulder where he had banged and banged and banged and banged those red bricks. All to no avail and only long-lasting injury. Just one of many attributed to that place.</p>
<p>Eleven years of his life lost to those forsaken grounds. Longer if you counted the tower where he trained on the corner of the estate. Nearly as long as he spent in his own home. Before he burned it. </p>
<p>He’s aware of everyone’s gaze on him, and he can feel some of them piece it together before others. But no one dares move. He lifts his head, seeing nothing but fire and determination. </p>
<p>“He’s in the Vergesson Sanatorium.” He looks at each of them in the eyes. Blue ones, brown ones, mismatched, and odd-coloured ones. He lingers on some a few moments longer than others, pressing his fixed resolve on them.  “And we’re going to get him.” </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. First Hurdles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Caleb led the charge in the organisation to leave the Xhorhaus. Face painted with a fury she had never seen on him before, Beau watches on as he barks orders and marches off to prepare his own necessities. </p><p>She was alarmed, to be quite honest. </p><p>She had known Caleb for some time now, longer than she had committed to most people in her life. She loved him like a brother, and wasn’t afraid to show it. But <em> this- </em>this was a Caleb she hadn’t seen before. </p><p>When he had spilled his history in a damp room in Zadash, she had listened, and watched his tears. His face has scrunched up, and curled with disgust at himself. The self-loathing was palpable, only lessened over time into something… a bit more malleable. She was trying to make him see how used he had been, how brainwashed he had been, but he was too deep in that dark pit back then. </p><p>Only now was he starting to see the light.</p><p>And on the deck of Avantika’s boat, she watched his shoulders set and arms spread wide, flames now licking up a deck as he protected his group- his family. His face, when she caught it, had been frowning, sweating, teeth set in fear and determination. She initally had thought the move stupid and unncessary, but saw what he did once it all worked out afterwards. </p><p>Even in the underground wells and tunnels of Asarius, when he had turned on them after a voice whispered in his ear, she had seen fear, and terror, and mistrust. Then when the cloud faded from his eyes, he was filled with regret and torment that he had <em> hurt </em> his friends. </p><p>Even in the throne room of the Empire’s King, faced with the tormentor of his past, the reason he was an oprhan, his face had betrayed his anxiety, shock, and panic. She remembers his drenched palms, his trembling steps, his choked breaths. </p><p>But now, watching him deliver a two-sentence statement, levelling their gazes without so much as blinking, Beau finds herself shrinking back a little. Not an easy feat with Jester bundled in her arms even just as still as she is, but it happens. </p><p>His face is calm, unwavering. A smirk had flitted bitterly across his features only moments ago but now settled into something neutral. Absent. Indifferent. </p><p>His blue eyes became half-lidded, his scrutiny of them all so intense and yet so distant that they daren’t move. She didn’t <em> like </em>it. </p><p>And then he was barking orders- get ready, gather yourselves, we leave in twenty! And he marched out the room, back set. </p><p>Where to, she had no idea. </p><p>Veth was the first to start moving, scrambling out of the room to her own. Yasha quietly followed suit. Jester gently removed herself from Beau’s embrace- where she didn’t even realise she was still holding the tiefling- and shakily sat down for a moment. Fjord glancesaround, his face set with worry, then bows out. Caduceus, calm face pulled into an expression of similar concern, presses a large hand to Jester’s cheek, then shuffles out after. Beau crouches down next to her friend. </p><p>“H-how bad was he, Jess?” </p><p>Jester looked pale, disturbed. She grits her teeth and just shakes her head, squeezing her eyes closed. “It’s not good, Beau. We <em> can’t </em> leave him. <em> We can’t </em>.” Jester turns to her with such a pleading look, one just filled with anguish and guilt-  Beau has a hard time arguing against it. </p><p>Her distrust of Essek had many facets to it- from feeling personally betrayed, to his reaction to Adeen, to kicking herself as an Expositor. Her anger was probably more at herself than him, and she knew that. But seeing Jester so afflicted, and Caleb practically shutting down before her yes… her family was fracturing over this man. </p><p>Steeling her resolve, she meets Jester’s gaze with a comforting smile and a hand rubbing her shoulder. “We’ll get him Jess, we’ll get him.” Jester leans in unexpectingly and lets out a wracking sob against Beau’s shoulder. It’s so heartbroken that Beau wobbles with the suddenness and rights her balance before hesitantly gathering Jester in her arms. Placing her cheek on Jester’s sweat-soaked hair, Beau whispers platitudes and promises. </p><p>Stupid Kryn wizard. What’s he gotten into now?</p><hr/><p> </p><p>Meeting Caleb, fully garbed and ready to go, his cool facade still in place and shoulders set, they ended up leaving an hour later. Jester was collected and ready to go, a fierce set to her stance. Caduceus stood taller than usual also. Fjord was glancing between the three, and Yasha flitting between them too. Veth just unsubtly snuck peeks at Caleb, her face mirroring the concern Beau felt. </p><p>He ignored all and finished a teleportation circle on the ground. When they stepped through, they were in the Cobalt Soul Archive of Rexxentrum. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It turns out they didn’t know <em> where </em> the Sanatorium actually was. Caleb- what little he had told them - had escaped in a haze, high on adrenaline and fresh murder. He only ran <em> away </em>from it, not caring to keep tabs on location. </p><p>Their one and only previous visit, aside from that for the rest of them, was a few weeks ago when taken to view the Pride’s Call Beacon. And they had been teleported. </p><p>Caleb didn’t have the means yet to perform the spell, not like- not like <em> Essek </em>could, and beneath the detached mein Caleb was now wearing, Beau could tell that was one thing presently he was the most frustrated about. </p><p>So they had to set about to researching instead. </p><p>It took five days. </p><p>They attempted to recall the foliage and greenery- if they could identify the trees they saw perhaps they can pinpoint a forest. Caduceus helped in great detail describing those, but their research came to naught. Too many forests and woodlands of the north prescribed to the same thick timbers and breeds. </p><p>They turned to the mountains. Scouring maps of the Empire and beyond did nothing. It could be north, it could be north-east. It could even have been to the south near Caleb’s hometown. His memory was too hazy to have recollected anything more than <em> survival </em> those first few weeks. He just ran in any direction that was <em> away </em>. </p><p>So they settled on their next avenue: planning permissions. </p><p>It took some hefty enquiring, and even more golden persuasion to allow them access (only enough for three of them though, fucking thieves), but they gained entry into the Rexxentrum Administrative Offices and Library to allow them full disclosure into the records kept there. Purses considerably lighter, three of them - herself, Caleb, and Fjord, set about pulling everything they could from shelves. </p><p>They scoured through everything they could: planning applications, any buildings built and/or purchased by the Assembly. Old blueprints, even older records dating back to nearly the founding of the Empire itself. </p><p>It was on the fifth day that Fjord, eyes weary with tiredness and dim light, scrunched his face and flicked back a few pages in the tome he held. He then scrambled to find the crude outline of the buildings as last they had seen it they had drawn. He lifts it and compares to his current page.</p><p>“Caleb- have you ever heard of the <em> Archevault </em>?”</p><p>Caleb, equally tired and frazzled, his hair long fallen out of its binding, looks up sternly from his own set of records. “No, why?”</p><p>“It’s an old note, <em> very </em>old in fact. Talks of the Julous Dominion war from a couple hundred years back or so. There appears to have been a prison built in the north near the-” he squints and peers closer to discern the faded writing. “Near the Pe- Parl- Pearl- Pearlba-?” </p><p>“The Pearlbow Wilderness?”<br/><br/>“Uh, sure? Come and- oh.” Caleb was already up and walking around, leaning over Fjord’s shoulder and scrutinising the writing. His long fingers dance across the page, tapping and following along with his mutters. An outline of the grounds was provided, faint as it was, and three buildings akin to their own drawing matched up. </p><p>“The towers must have been built later,” Caleb muttered, mostly to himself. “That makes sense, <em> ja. </em> ” He takes the book from Fjord, pressing his nose almost to the pages. He’s then scrambling for - for something. It takes a few moments but he pulls out an atlas from under the pile of discarded <em> mayhem </em>, and flicks through the pages hurriedly. He soon slows, flicking back and forth between Fjord’s book at the map book. His carelessness causes more than one tear and he ignores Beau’s protests. Soon he’s landed on one page. The comparing goes on intently, silently, for a few more moments. </p><p>Then he’s pulling away from both, and snaps the book shut. Dust flies up from the pages, but Caleb has already thrown it heavily onto the table and was putting on his scarf and coat. Frumpkin purred from the doorway where he stood sentry. </p><p>“Come, we are done here. I know where it is.” and he strides off, leaving a pile of papered mess. </p><p>Fjord and Beau share a startled look, before scrambling up to follow. They meet with the others at their modest inn. </p><p>The information they had so far, after sitting around a private table in the Cobalt Archive was as thus: there were five buildings; two towers, three main ones. Connected by either hallways or paths. There was a huge iron fence around it, and guards. The main mansion was three floors tall or so, and then Caleb dropped a bomb. </p><p>“There are underground elements to the facility. Probably spanning the grounds. I -” he pauses. “I never saw too deep into them. Most of my… <em> our </em>victims were brought to us. At the tower.” He points to a corner of their crude drawing. And after that my time spent here was in the main building.” He indicates to the centre. “The guards are numbered and calculated. Taking them out is an option but not the most ideal.” He continues.</p><p>“We could disguise ourselves!” Veth pipes up. “Go in as the uh, what’s-his-face, the Martinet! Or Iki-”</p><p>“<em> Icky-Thong </em>, eurgh.” Jester spits out in disgust, face twisted to match. </p><p>“Nein, it will not help us. We want to draw as little attention to ourselves as possible, keep the alarm from sounding for as long as we can. And it <em> will </em> sound. We don’t even know if they send ahead messages to expect them or not. I would suspect there is some sort of predetermined arrival system.”</p><p>“What about going in as Kryn then? That way if we’re caught then it’ll just look like operatives getting their Shadowhand back?” Yasha chimes in, studying the map. </p><p>Caleb shakes his head at this too. “No, if we’re caught looking like Kryn, or possibly anyone else, they’ll assume it’s the Dynasty planning it and just incite war again. If we’re going to be caught, best do it with our own faces and separate goals. We don’t want to disrupt the peace. Not even for-” He bites the inside of his cheek for a few moments. When he next talks, voice steady and strong, Beau can see flashes of blood across his teeth. </p><p>“Perhaps we can ask for a distraction however. Some immediate trouble stirred up elsewhere in the empire to keep the Assembly occupied. Nothing harmful to cause collateral, but-” Beau adds. Caleb gives her a studying look, and nods.</p><p>“Ja, maybe. Perhaps we can reach out to those in the south?” and he looks to Jester.</p><p>In their time researching, the others had been busy. Caduceus and Jester had taken turns scrying throughout the day, hoping to find a moment where Essek was alone. Caduceus was successful once, Jester twice more. They seemed to establish particular hours when he was <em> likely </em> to be alone, giving them small windows to operate between. On top of that, Jester was also attempting to message Essek, to get word to him, to get information from him. Only once so far she had managed to ‘get through’ and she only received droning gurgles and mumbles in return. Like he was drugged- or worse. </p><p>In any case, he was still <em> breathing </em>. Everything else would be dealt with and healed after. </p><p>They’d also been attempting to reach out to allies. Shakaste was working in the south, as was Dairon, already assigned to their next mission. Reani was undergoing an expedition through the Savalirwood, and Calianna moving around the Menagerie Coast- as was Twiggy.. They even reached out to the Gentleman for any allies, but he was unable to divulge contacts and wished them to stay <em> safe </em>. </p><p>Their planning was getting nowhere fast with old information, and so Caleb declared that they would travel there first, plan on the way, and then solidify their strategy. </p><p>There was brief talk of asking the Clays to join them, if the location was near where Caleb believed it, but both he and Caduceus shot that down quickly. They’d only not long returned home, they needed rest, he didn’t want to risk more family… Nila was also thought about but discarded. They couldn’t ask her to leave her family, not for a stranger. Not for them. The same with Pumat. Eventually they decided it was probably for the best that it was just them. </p><p>So The Mighty Nein left the next day, stocked up on new mounts and supplies, all alone. </p><p>The journey was mirthless, and stressful. They skirted around the edge of the forest going up to the fishing town of Odessloe, and following the river north-east. It took a lot longer than Caleb would have wanted. He champed at the bit to get going, setting up the dome as late as possible, even when their purchased mounts were weary, and getting up barely a few hours later to get the party moving again. </p><p>Meals were cold, and simple. Except for one particularly cold night where Caduceus insisted on a warm meal, and set about making a vegetable stew despite Caleb’s glares. </p><p>Tension was evident and it only made them all the more nervous. By the time they diverted across the river (parting it again like they had in Xhorhas) and started inland towards the mountains, no one was talking. </p><p>The weather was as miserable as their mood, warmer skies turning to bleak blankets, furthering the dismal atmosphere around them. Once, and only once, they fended off a mother bear as they seemingly wandered too closely to her den. Injuring enough to scare but not maim, they taunted it away, and Caduceus attempted to soothe her. It seemed to work. </p><p>Caleb led the group pacing at a quicker trot after that, seemingly to make up for lost time. </p><p>Jester still checked in throughout the day at some set times to check on Essek, while Caduceus faithfully attempted others through the night. So far night times were left clear for them whereas Jester’s scries were hit-and-miss. In all successful cases, Essek was limp, breathing, but unmoving. He still wasn’t responding to Jester’s messages and she teared up more than once. She clung tightly to Beau and Yasha those nights. Caduceus always came out of his scries looking very grim and serious. He would shake his head, or give a level glance to the group and describe what he saw. It never changed. But Essek was still alive. </p><p>By the time it was a few days on, and the mountains started peaking above the canopy, Caleb started sending Frumpkin ahead as a falcon to get a view above the treeline. He would sit in his saddle for hours, eyes glazed over, Veth holding the reins from her pony. For two days he returned to them with a dark expression, hunched over, and at a loss. </p><p>When he finally located it, they knew because he hissed and swore. Muttering in Zemnian, and his breath hitching a little, <em> he’d found it</em>. They were finally there. </p><p>Setting up camp a long way off, they took a brief hike to get a better view. </p><p>Sure enough, looming spires, and an ominous outline against a mountainous background heralded the presence of the Vergesson Sanatorium.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter 3 will not be up nearly as quickly as Chapter 2 is, I was just inspired and a bit impatient to get them here :) Now the fun (???) begins. </p><p>Love yas! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Mask Unretired</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>All your feedback and comments are giving me life. Thank you &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rumblecusp and their weeks at sea had tanned the Mighty Nein with healthy glows. Some came out in freckles, others with warmer skin and sun-bleached hair. All returned with jovial cheer and less tension in their bones. It had truly been a wonderful time. </p><p>Two weeks had passed since then and in that time they had all faded to more pallid tones. Very reflective of their situation at hand, Fjord thought. The sun and sea never felt so far sitting in these wretched hills. </p><p>He was on second watch, Beau’s journal in hand. Caduceus calmly sat beside him while the others slept several feet back. Most were sound, the arduous journey wearing them out. A couple slept fitfully. Caleb especially. </p><p>There was no fire tonight, they kept in sight of the Sanatorium having relocated their camp higher up the mountain to get a better overview. It was a little fortuitous that the grounds were built with their back to the range. </p><p>Squinting by moonlight, what little filtered on through, Fjord watched as the guards changed post again and hurriedly scrawled on his paper. Every half-hour, just like they counted. Caduceus sees his note-taking and turns over the little hourglass balanced beside him. It’s still every half-hour they change posts, circulating around clockwise, he notes. According to Beau’s scribbles from the previous watch, she reckons there’s a blind spot that could buy them extra time. Fjord keeps a close eye on that in particular, laughing at Beau’s little drawing of an angry-looking stick figure guard.</p><p>Caleb refused to wait another day to check out the other side at night. </p><p>Fjord understands his frustration, the drive and immediacy. Essek had already been missing for a week at <em> least </em> by the time they had found out, and it’s been nearly two more on top of that since. But still Fjord wishes he had <em> more </em>information- but Caleb won’t have it. He’s seen the change this whole thing had brought to Caleb, from watching him transform in the War Room before his eyes to leading the charge and setting the pace. </p><p>He doesn’t think he likes him, this new Caleb. </p><p>Caduceus, perceptive as ever, must have seen the turmoil play out over his face while they sat still. He reaches a hand across and gently pats Fjord’s knee. </p><p>“I know,” he says, voice low. "It’s hard seeing him like this. But we need him right now.”</p><p>“Who, Caleb? Of course we do,” Fjord whispers back, glancing towards his sleeping family. Caduceus shakes his head, a sad smile on his features before he sits back, sipping at cold -brewed tea. Fjord briefly studies him, bewildered, before sparing another glance to the wizard. What did <em> that </em>mean?</p><hr/><p> </p><p>They sleep in late, knowing they were going to enact their plan at night. They keep close watch on the changing guard shifts while Caleb draws a detailed blueprint of the grounds in the dirt. Jester and Veth provide close-to-faithful consistent representations for the guards and known doors made from twigs, rocks, and leaves. As they speak, a recently changed Frumpkin was making his way down to the grounds for reconnaissance waiting in hiding for Caleb’s signal to start exploring. </p><p>There were still too many unknowns in their plan, mostly stemming from they didn’t know <em> where </em> Essek was. It occured to Fjord, in the wee hours of the night, that they had followed Caleb here on two single, vague details: red brick walls and people who wore amulets like his. The startling realisation had meant Fjord didn’t sleep well after his watch. </p><p>They really followed him half-way across a continent on a feeling, which was possibly clouded over and influenced by his past. Was this new Caleb really so charismatic? Able to convince them so easily with his matter-of-factness? </p><p>It appeared so. He didn’t know what was more foolish, the fact that they’d followed him here with so little information, or that they never stopped to question it in the first place. Was that the price of blind trust in your friends? Willingly walking into foolish situations regardless? Then he blanched. They had done the very same thing Fjord a few months ago on less. He grimaces to himself.</p><p>It was clear that Essek meant something to Caleb- to what end, Fjord didn’t know. But there was a connection, a - a <em> link </em>between them. Caleb saw himself in Essek, and as much had been revealed the night of the party in Nicodranas.It was heart-warming and heart-breaking at the same time, and Fjord realised then that he hoped they managed to get to Essek in time- both today <em>and</em> on the boat in Nicodranas. Judging by Caleb’s drive and haste, he seemed to think Essek was nearing some sort of pinnacle - and not a good one.  At this point Fjord wasn’t sure if they were going in to save Essek, or to reconcile Caleb’s past. </p><p>He decided the reflections could wait until after. For now, they needed to determine where Essek was. </p><p>Caduceus had the solution to that. Using some sort of divination he would be able to hopefully sense Essek within a large radius- even through stone. From there on out it would determine where, and how they would get into the Sanatorium. </p><p>Caleb claimed to have ideas, but they were all too partial, he said. And there was one other possible problem - any wards on the grounds. He had escaped just over five years ago, and if they were smart, they would have heightened security for that exact reason. It wasn’t hard to see a flash of derisive bitterness flash across Caleb’s face as he said this out loud. The irony of having to break in somewhere when you yourself are the one to have made things more difficult without even intending was not a kind irony to face. </p><p>So Caleb turns to Frumpkin. The plan was to have Frumpkin - as a rat- scurry through the fence and see if there was anything to trip. With the canopy shading his blank face, the Mighty Nein watches on as Caleb directs and observes his familiar. </p><p>He sits on a damp slab, beneath an aged and crumbling tree, chin tilted upwards and eyes glazed over in a lightning-blue hue. His facial hair was mostly grown out now, Caleb not bothering to take care of it since returning to Rosohna. His clothes were filthy, most of the rest of them were at this point, but it was so much like Caleb of a year ago… except <em> not </em>.  Caleb of a year ago would have been conflicted, and torn, pulling at his hair. Fretting, and anxious. This Caleb had his mouth permanently fixed in a grim line, with furrowed brow and a look of steel. </p><p>Once more his thoughts must have played out across his face because Caduceus leans over to him and whispers, “we’ll get him back, don’t worry.”</p><p>Fjord spares him a perplexed glance, the others just out of hearing range. “What- what do you mean? Of course we’re getting Essek back, that’s why we’re here.” Again, Caduceus gives that sad smile and glances in Caleb’s direction.   </p><p>“No. I meant Caleb.” At Fjord’s growing confusion, Caduceus continues. “Caleb isn’t with us right now. That over there is <em> Bren</em>. We’ll get Essek out safely, with everyone else, and <em> then </em>we are going to recover Caleb back. But for now, we need Bren. Caleb might not survive what we’re about to do, but Bren will. Bren already has.”</p><p>And then he leans back to tend to his beetles. Fjord is stunned, taking in exactly what he was just told. He looks to the man sitting still and coolly across the way, senses elsewhere in the world. Caduceus was right. Caleb never left the Xhorhaus. They’ve been walking with a stranger this entire time. </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It takes another hour before ‘Caleb’ returns to them. They had split up to pack up camp and sort through supplies, taking his long absence as a good sign. The horses are set loose. Caleb concisely confirms that no other wards appear present, and Frumpkin is keeping watch nearby. He attempted to get in, but to no avail. </p><p>Jester currently sits with a pinched face, listening to a message. It was her third one received of the day. Over the last week she had been messaging their allies in the Empire, hoping someone could stir up some trouble for them- bouncing off of Beau’s idea from Rexxentrum. They got a possible hit from Shakäste yesterday, and Caleb all but ordered Jester to tell him to make sure it was loud. Jester added on <em> ‘safe </em>trouble’, which earned her a frosty look from the wizard. </p><p>For the most part of this ordeal, Jester had been very quiet and turned in on herself. They’d all- no- <em> most </em>of them had spared her worrying glances throughout as she shrunk a little further each day. With each successful scry, her mood worsened. With each failed message, her shoulders hunched a little further. </p><p>When she contacted Shakäste, and sweetly asked him to stir up safe trouble so that no one really got hurt ( they just needed a distraction for the Archmages), Caleb had almost rounded on her with an angry glare. They needed <em> any </em>distraction they could get, he said. They didn’t want the weight of the Assembly bearing down on them at a moment’s notice. </p><p>Jester drew up sharply at that, downed mood forgotten and countering that Shakäste was as much their friend as Essek and she wasn’t going to ask him to put himself in mortal danger for <em> them. </em> Thank you very much <em> Cay-leb.  </em></p><p>Caleb had stared at her, while the rest had jumped up braced for- for <em> something </em>. His nostrils flared dangerously for a moment, but as back in the Xhorhaus, they watched as his entire face melted into something blank. “Ja. You’re right,” he said before walking away to start his Frumpkin-changing ritual. </p><p>Unbeknownst they were holding it, a collective breath was released. Fjord watched Yasha take her hand from her sheathed hilt, and Beau relax her stance. </p><p>Thinking back in the moment with Caduceus’ words playing in his mind, Fjord could see more and more differences between Bren and Caleb. </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The rest of the day isn’t peaceful. Itching to do something, Beau wants to scout out the other side of the estate. They had approached from the south-west, coming up from an angle after crossing the River Erde. Beau wanted to see the north-eastern side in case there was a weaker entry point, but Caleb shot her down. They sniped back and forth, with Veth and Caduceus of all people weighing in that perhaps one more night of planning and scouting would do better. Caleb had clenched his fists, closed his eyes, and breathed nasally with anger. </p><p>Fjord joined in and agreed. He was feeling nervous enough. </p><p>“Do we even have an escape plan?” he asks out loud. They turn to look at him with the exception of Caleb who’s fixated on a distant spot across the trees. Dawning realisation overshadows them and then they flit back to the wizard.<br/><br/>“We can just teleport, right? Get to Essek then bamf out of there!” Veth says, nerves betraying her tone. </p><p>Caleb doesn’t respond. Fjord does. “We teleported to outside of the grounds last time- it would make sense that there’s some sort of, I don’t know, wards and shit in place to stop <em> exactly </em>that from happening.” Veth’s expression turns wide-eyed and a bit panicky at that, and Fjord feels a little guilty. He sees her fingers twitch for a non-existent flask.  </p><p>“Caleb?” Veth asked hesitantly, an arm raised as though to reach out but she dare not touch him. </p><p>“Ja. There’s a way out.” He finally says, still not looking at them. “Assuming we cannot go back the way we came then…” He pauses. “The blueprints Fjord found- there are caverns beneath the facility. But most likely blocked off. They lead to an underground river that was the initial water supply for when it was still only a prison. I don’t know if it is still there, though.”</p><p>There’s a beat. Then two. And a third. </p><p>Then several voices are raised in rapid concern and ‘oh my god we don’t even have a way out? This is crazy!’ and ‘Caleb, a <em> river? You want me to go in a river-? </em>’ and other protests. He doesn’t answer them, just keeping his gaze fixated away from them. They start to crowd him- Beau, Nott, Jester. Fjord realises he’s halfway to joining them when Caleb snaps. </p><p>“What would you have me do? Leave him there? Either we fight our way out, attempt to locate old caverns, or die trying. Worst case scenario is that we are captured ourselves. You have all the information I can give you and I cannot- <em>will not</em> wait one more day to have him think he’s been abandoned in the utmost<em> worst </em>place I have ever known!”</p><p>Birds flutter and fly off at the outburst and no one says anything.</p><p>“I am going in tonight. If you care about him even a little, you will join me. I will not let him suffer one more day.”</p><p>A few more heartbeats pass. </p><p>“Ca- Caleb! O-of <em> course </em>we’re going to get him, we just want more information. I don’t want to lose anyone because we didn’t prepare enough,” Jester says softly. She reaches for him but he flinches back, startling her. </p><p>“It’s already been too long,” he replies, shaking his head. His dirty hair falls across his face.  “Far, <em>far</em> too long.” He walks away. </p><p>Fjord sees the difference clear as day now. Caleb would have worked every possible angle he could to make sure they were covered as much as they could be. Bren- Bren doesn’t care about that. He's got tunnel-vision and blinkers on, blinded to all other avenues. They couldn't stop him going tonight if they tried and they knew it, looking around between them exasperated. To him the rest of them were just extra bodies- means to an end to complete his goal. </p><p>Their goal may be aligned for now, but Fjord decides he doesn’t like Bren very much at all. </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The rest of the afternoon passes by in terse silence, save for preparation, napping, and the occasional eating. No one dare use spells they don’t need for now. Yasha locates a pond and they refill waterskins and wash. Fjord stares at the water for a while, feeling a different feeling from that of looking to the ocean. The pond was deep- he couldn’t see the bottom through the fronds- but it didn’t scare him. It was peaceful, and some fish swam by. He offers a silent prayer of thanks to the Wildmother, and asked for her watchfulness this night. </p><p>Come dusk they start quietly making their way to the edge of the forest. The trees thinned, losing life almost, and hiding was difficult. They ended up being a little too spread for comfort, but some one-fifty feet or so from the north-west fence. </p><p>The weak spot in the guard as detailed by Beau’s notes was the far northern corner, by one of the towers. Fjord recognises it as the one they entered previously- Ikithon’s tower. </p><p>Being on a corner, the guard would have to walk behind the perimeter to go to his next station. Given that the other guards were some 80 feet away or more, they figured if they could take out a corner guard right at the changing, that would buy them an hour, as the next guard wouldn’t notice their colleague missing until they went to his next post around the corner and saw them absent. </p><p>It was a nervous endeavour, though thankfully the weather held dry for now. It had rained on and off over the past few days between light drizzle to thick droplets. If it had rained today then the mud would be harder to traverse and tracks more obvious. </p><p>Favour with them now, and stealthily camped at the base of the mountain, they enact the first part of their plan. </p><p>Caduceus takes out some fur from his pouch, rubs it between his fingers and mutters an incantation to the Wildmother. Fjord feels a calm breeze ruffle by him, somehow blowing in all directions around him at once for a moment. It tickles his hair, and a slight floral perfume fills his senses. His body relaxes, sending another silent prayer of thanks Her way. </p><p>They watch as Caduceus opens his eyes, snapping towards the estate before furrowing and looking down a little. </p><p>“Yes, he’s here-” a murmur of reactions respond; a couple sigh in mixed relief, Yasha lifts her head a little. Caleb doesn’t move. “Below the ground, some twenty feet or more. I can’t tell this far away.” He frowns and squints. “Beneath the closer building there,” and he points, not to the tower they were next to, but the side facility off of the bigger mansion. </p><p>Fjord finds he’s nodding, feeling that contradictory comfort. They hadn’t come all this way for nothing, he really <em> was </em>down there, they were close. The ease lasts but for a moment. The last few weeks regarding Essek had been odd for Fjord. He had grown to like the man, and had begun to enjoy his company. His humour was … stilted, a little, but their impromptu dinner party had really shed some light on the Shadowhand. </p><p>Fjord wasn’t one-hundred-percent sold on him, but he was very sympathetic now. There was still a danger, still some missing blanks in the man he was wary of as evidenced by his reaction in the dungeon to his ‘overselling’ (though Fjord wasn’t sure if that was his way of joking or not). He was dangerous, of that he had no doubt, but he was lonely. And Fjord could relate to that. He too had done… silly, <em> stupid </em>things for perhaps lesser reasons than Essek. So far though, Fjord’s mistakes hadn’t had continent-wide (or sea-wide) consequences, but then again Essek was one piece on a vast game board and - </p><p>And it wasn’t really until the first beacon had been <em> stolen </em>from Zadash that the war had entered its inevitable direction. Tensions were said to have been high already between nations. Fjord didn’t know much about it until he started travelling that way. </p><p>Perhaps Essek was as duped by the Assembly as young Caleb had been. Perhaps he was too blinded by ambition to see the potential consequences. He hoped that was the case, rather than Essek realising the possible outcomes and collateral and ignoring it anyway. But from what he had seen on the Balleater- both in Nicodranas and the days of the peace talks, Fjord had the impression that war was never something Essek wanted. </p><p>But these were all questions he could ask him <em> after </em>they rescued him. Fjord looks to Caleb, who’s eyes were centred on the building Caduceus had pointed to. Yes, Essek could be asked all sorts of questions and help after he was rescued- and after they had rescued their own wizard from himself too. </p><p>They wait until a long time after midnight. Jester receives a one-sided message that a ruckus was being made elsewhere and that's their signal. One of the moons is obscured, peeking through slow-moving clouds- just enough light to help them see, and just enough to cover them in darkness. </p><p>At the closing of the hour the guards change posts, and the Mighty Nein spring into action.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>NGL after Chapter 2 I was like 'oh yes next chapter they storm the estate' but the characters were like 'nope sorry gotta do all this first'. <i>Next</i> chapter, I promise!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Sanctum Sanatorium</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Guys, your incredible feedback is giving me <i>life</i>. Thank you so much &lt;3 you're the fuel to my authorial fire!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “Caleb? Don’t- don’t you think we should scout out a little more? Maybe get Frumpkin to have a longer lookie-loo in the buildings? I- I only say this because I don’t like going in blind and-” </em>
</p><p><em> “Nott, I have already stated that we don’t have time for that. If Frumpkin were to be discovered that would put them on high alert. If we waited just one more night and he- and he dies? Or becomes too injured that he cannot recover? What then, Nott? It’s already been a few weeks too long. </em> No. <em> We go tonight.” </em></p><p>Veth’s feet pitter patter professionally along the forest edge, rounding off and getting into position. She just had to wait for Beau-</p><p>The guard at the corner settled, only having just moved to their new position.  The clouds covers their tracks as the guard takes one- two- <em> three </em>hits, wobbles stunned, and Veth unloads her boltblaster. It strikes twice in the chest, and the figure falls limp. It doesn’t topple fully however, and Veth squints as the dark shape is awkwardly dragged towards the treeline. </p><p>The clouds are still with them as they cover the moonlight, allowing an invisible Beau to carefully dispatch the unconscious body near the rest of the party. None of the other guards far away noticed anything amiss. Perfect. </p><p>She creeps back to the group, watching for broken twigs and wishing she had her flask. Fjord is tying the guard tight, while Jester places a healing hand on the guard’s face. Gentle light emits, and she removes the arrows. The guard remains unconscious for the time being, and a gag is affixed. Waiting for the moon to be securely covered again, Jester unfurls a sprig and some ashes, rolling them together and muttering to the Traveler. Veth blinks as she could have sworn a green cloak settled over Jester, but there’s nothing there upon closer inspection. </p><p>“Okay, we’re good to go,” she utters. As she stands Veth feels more than sees a blanketing sensation around them, radiating from Jester. “Stick close to me.”</p><p>They nod silently, and start making it to the fence. </p><p>The fence is only sixty feet or so from where they were hiding in thick underbrush, and with the darkened sky they stealthily cross to the iron fence. As Veth looks behind them from her position at the back, she sees that no footprints are being left in the soft mud. Beau- still invisible- stumbles into Caduceus only to be righted by Fjord and they all freeze, looking down at the guard eighty feet or so away down the north-south fence. </p><p>It’s a long stretch of breathlessness, waiting to see for a reaction- when the guard moves. </p><p>A gauntleted hand reaches up to cover a yawn. The spear goes temporarily slack in their hand. The halfling shuffles and stamps a little as the yawn reaches a crescendo… then goes back to holding position. </p><p>Veth’s lung hurt from holding her breath, but she daren’t have let it out. She feels her friends relax around her. Jester starts shuffling forward again and the group sticks close. </p><p>They make it to the fence and lean in against the corner pillar in the shadows just as the moon reveals itself once more. Inspecting the iron fence up close, it was as Caleb had told them. The bars were wide enough for maybe half of them to get through, but not all. </p><p>All eyes turn to her as she realised she was up first. She takes two deep breaths, puffing out small clouds of steam, and pushes to the front. Caleb had said that Frumpkin didn’t trip any noticeable wards so in <em> theory </em>they were fine. Somehow though, Caleb’s reassurance today didn’t soothe her as much as usual. </p><p>She risks a glance to him as she approaches the fence. He wasn’t even looking at her, his severe profile pointed towards the direction they were aiming for. He’d cleaned up earlier, kneeling at the pond and cupping water over his face. With his hair tied back in a tight cord, all business tonight, that face was now on full display.  Mouth downturned, and brow deep, he was the epitome of focus right now. Divested of his outer coat and scarf for ease of movement (now stored in his amber dimension vault thing) he posed a striking figure in his dark grey surcoat and boots. It was easy to forget how broad he was bundled under all those layers. </p><p>But there was no time to admire him. Mirroring his expression of concentration, she faces the bars. Again the lack of weight on her belt reminds her that there’s no liquid courage tonight. It’s <em> allllll </em>natural. She hates it. </p><p>She stretches one hand through the bars, scrunches her face tight, and holds. </p><p>A heartbeat, two, three, six- </p><p>Nothing. </p><p>She was going to go dizzy if she kept holding her breath like this. </p><p>Glancing towards the guard far from them, she saw no change in their movement… and squeezes through the bars. It was a little trickier than anticipated, she wasn’t as lean as she used to be as a goblin, but she was small enough that she managed it. </p><p>Satisfied with her results, Beau is next, her soft grunts heard as she invisibly manoeuvres herself through to push past Veth. Caduceus passes his staff through to her, and she holds the tall prop while he bends and twists his wiry frame through. There’s some fumbling, and bumping, but he manages it and unfurls himself on the other side. He thanks her quietly and takes back his staff. Even on the most important of stealth missions, Caduceus was sure to maintain manners. It made her smile. </p><p>Caleb attempted, but found he was too broad in the chest. Same for Fjord. Jester unfortunately fell into the same category, and Yasha doesn’t even try it. But that’s all right, they had prepared for this. </p><p>A long wind of rope unveils from nowhere as Beau secures it to the base of the fence and throws it over the top. Using it to hold onto, Caleb is the first to grasp and hoist himself over. It’s like nothing she’s ever seen Caleb perform. Usually he’s slow and careful, inept and clumsy. But here he deftly scurries, feet planted securely on the bars and arms strong as he climbs. Even the points at the top are no issue for him as he crouches low, boots between the spikes, and hops down with a soft ‘thump’. Looking around, Veth isn’t the only one impressed. </p><p>“Holy <em> shit</em>, Widogast! Where did that come from?” Beau whispers. She’s answered with a harsh <em> shh</em>.</p><p>Yasha helps Jester over with a boost- and she lands only just crumpling to one knee- and offers the same to Fjord. He looks at the fence, almost as if he’s going to decline, then gives a reluctant nod and ‘yes, please’. He lands less gracefully than Caleb, but on his two feet. Yasha has no issue swinging herself up and over. They undo the rope, wanting to leave as little evidence as possible. Their way out probably wasn’t going to be this way anyway. </p><p>Veth watches Caleb as he watches the terrain. As their entry point is a corner, a tall stone pillar offers a little shadow when the moonlight flooded, and it was here they crowded while surveying the gardens. </p><p>In any other circumstance, Veth would have said this was a nice place. She knew there were fountains at the front, and well tended flower beds. Even the main buildings themselves were very well maintained from what she had glanced before, and it <em> seemed </em>comfortable- from the outside.  All in all it exuded a feeling of pleasantness. With the mountains framing it in the background, and the forested border secluding it, it really was picturesque and scenic of an ideal getaway.</p><p>Until she recalled all that Caleb had disclosed up until then. </p><p>Suddenly, the towering silhouette looms more sinister and sharper than it did before. </p><p>“Where exactly is Essek?” Caleb demands, looking pointedly at Caduceus. The cleric regards him for a moment, before pointing towards a little ways ahead of them, and directly in the open garden in view of buildings, towers, the moon and patrols. It was still near the building they were close to, but there was no way that Caleb’s cat’s paw could carve a sizeable enough hole without notice.</p><p>“Looks like the dig-him-out plan is a bust. Inside we go!” Beau whispers. </p><p>There are guards on the grounds, patrolling in pairs. They think there’s only four pairs on at any given time, and they pass by every fifteen minutes, totalling an hour round the grounds. Their first part of the plan took less than ten minutes to enact, and so they wait in the shadows for an agonising few minutes more. Caleb is wound tightly, they all were, but her oldest friend especially. He was half-crouched, taut like a spring ready to unleash. She couldn’t see Beau, but she could feel a similar energy from the space she occupied. </p><p>They didn’t have to wait long for a pair to round the corner of their aimed building. </p><p>The Mighty Nein are the perfect picture of statue-still as the two near closer and closer. At their perigee there will be an estimated less-than-thirty feet of distance between them. </p><p>It’s an agonising wait and Caduceus presses one firm hand on her shoulder to keep her from bouncing from foot to foot. They instinctively press deeper into the shadow, praying to whomever was listening for Jester’s spell to be enough. </p><p>Fifty feet. </p><p>They are two women, soft murmurs between them.</p><p>Forty-five feet. </p><p>One is a gnome, the other a half-elf. </p><p>Forty feet. </p><p>At this distance Veth can hear parts of the conversation. It’s about possible reassignment. </p><p>Thirty-five feet. </p><p>The gnome is blonde, with a straight-cut fringe. The half-elf has dark hair, tied back. Their helmets don’t cover their faces.</p><p>Thirty feet. </p><p>Veth can see the outline of the emblem in their darker Crownsguard uniforms. She <em> swears </em>the gnome looks to their corner-</p><p>Twenty-eight feet-</p><p>Caduceus fingers tighten ever so slightly. Veth bites her lip hard enough to pinch, her shoulders hunched up to her pointed ears-</p><p>The guards round off and away, continuing their conversation. </p><p>No one moves. </p><p>Jester is the first to release her breath, everyone else following immediately. This was their fifteen-minute window to find a way in. </p><p>Caleb is starting to move, and Jester scurries to catch up with his long stride. He only slows when she grasps his upper arm and he sees that the rest are scrambling- something they <em> don’t </em>want to do. Veth can see his nostrils flare as he looks left and right, lingering on the guards walking off. </p><p>The building draws closer- smaller than its neighbour but only marginally so. Where the main building had several floors coming to a thick, pointed tower, this building was more house-shaped- in which it was rectangular with a regular roof. The architecture style was the same though. </p><p>Caleb, leading the charge, reaches the walls first and mutters words under his breath. A rune flairs in front, lighting the space between his chest and the wall a burning orange. It fades and he turns to study the surface. </p><p>Caleb starts walking slowly down the wall, stopping at the fourth tall, darkened window. The windows on this side were all curtained, no light shining through. Whether this was a good sign or not, Veth couldn’t tell. He tilts his head this way and that, as he does when figuring something out. His hand is flat, palm facing outwards moving it in small, deliberate circles and scanning. </p><p>“Nott, over here,” he whispers. He points to the window and backs away. Like Caduceus, Yasha, and Fjord, he joins them in keeping an eye out. She ignores the old moniker. He’s stressed after all- Essek was captured.</p><p>She won’t pretend she hasn’t seen Caleb take a shine to the Kryn man. They were alike in so many ways- both booky nerds, and wizards who love magic and all things about it. Both lonely figures needing friends. The revelation in Nicodranas changed something between them, and she was shocked to see Caleb extend such free phsyical affection to anyone outside of the Nein. Which meant he had to become part of them. But the shift between the two tilted Caleb. He was quiet, and sad again. And she couldn’t forgive Essek that. </p><p>She liked him, she did. Mostly. But he needed to face consequences, she’d said as much before. But this place? Remembering Caleb’s trembling, and sweating, and shaky breaths when they came with Ludinus? Not really what she had in mind. She wanted punishment, but from what she’s heard about this ‘institution’ it wasn’t worthy as a sentence for <em> anyone… </em>let alone someone she regarded traitorous and hurtful to her friend. </p><p>Even if he had helped her get her original body back… She… she supposed she <em> did </em> owe him that. And seeing Caleb so animated and alive that morning, pouring over equations and bouncing ideas and connections off of Essek- there was no denying the pair worked incredibly together. She’d seen it with her own eyes- there was a light there she’d seen dimly maybe only a handful of times. And around the other wizard, Caleb <em> shone</em>. But not anymore. Not since Nicodranas, and not since they returned to Rosohna. </p><p>Caleb’s change over the last couple of weeks scared her. He'd become withdrawn, angry, isolated in a circle full of family. And this Caleb that didn’t care enough to respect her original name? It made her nervous. But if getting Essek back meant fixing her friend, then that’s what she’ll do. And she’d never let him come here of all places alone. </p><p>Veth approaches the window. It’s old, the frame covered in peeling paint on the inside, and heavily weathered on the outside. Not as maintained as led to believe then. Rustling out her thieves’ tools, she stops to listen, bending her head. She can’t hear any movement- or anything for that matter- inside, and the curtains are drawn tightly. </p><p>Sniffing, she crouches so the lock is eye level. It’s tricker, being a heavy clasp, but she carefully scans for any signs of a trip wire, or strings and springs- anything out of the ordinary. Caleb has cleared it of magic - which… Veth does find <em> peculiar</em>. Caleb said he expected greater security after his escape...and surely something of this size would have night-staff attending? Right? The whole thing set Veth on edge. Sometihng was <em>wrong</em> about this place, and it wasn't just from the information Caleb had told her. </p><p>Nevertheless she deftly starts to tinker and pick and turn and click. Sliding it under the frame, scraping away the paint, she fiddles and twists and fidgets. It’s hard, it’s rusted. Like it hasn’t been opened in a long time. Her fingers are aching, shoulders hunched as she hold against the lock to tamper further- then there’s a small screech as it flips up and the window shudders with the release-</p><p>They all watch as the jolt reverberates up the clouded glass panes, wobbling them ever so slightly. There’s slight creaking and groaning as the frame stretches for the first time in a long time it seems. </p><p>And then it settles. </p><p>Veth drops her head to take a couple of quick breaths, and stows her tools away. Very carefully, she sandwiches her fingers between window and sill- checking to see if it knocks it again. It’s a tight squeeze, and even her small, round fingers struggle to find purchase. Eventually, painfully, she secures a grip. Satisfied it’s okay, she starts to push up. </p><p>The resistance sends fire ripping up her muscles as she strains against the worn window. While the outline of the window itself was tall, only the bottom third appeared openable and moveable. Even knowing this, she was still having to <em> really </em>strain to make it budge just an inch. </p><p>She releases the grasp and turns to the group wide-eyed and panicky. Jester steps forward. Copying Veth’s movements, she starts to pry - not extering enough force to send it shooting skyward, but what should be enough to shimmy it a little, and she groans a bit with the strain. And it does shift- a fraction. </p><p>Caleb sighs impatiently and removes his rarely-used dagger from his belt. Silently they watch as he scrapes it along forcefully the edges of the window, cutting away at rot and mold. It doesn’t take long, and then he is sliding the dagger flat beneath the window and twisting it sidewards. The window shivers with another rattle and several heads whip around to see if it attracted attention. </p><p>It does not appear to. </p><p>Sheathing the dagger, Caleb, and soon Jester, are displacing the window side-to-side to get it to move until there’s just enough space for Veth to crawl through. The window stays open, jammed in its own frame and rust, and Veth carefully reaches through to face the curtains. </p><p>The scent of mold is stronger here, coupled with the odour of lingering damp and mildew. Turning her nose up, she reaches through, and peels back the curtain a fraction. </p><p>More darkness. </p><p>Frustrated she reveals more. And more. And more until one full curtain is parted. </p><p>It’s just a blank wall, inches from her face.  And it’s built from red brick. </p><p>“What the <em> fuck- </em>” she mumbles but then she’s being pulled backwards by a rough hand and then Caleb is peering through in her place, reaching through to touch it-</p><p><em> “ </em> <em> Scheiß</em><em>! </em> <em> ”  </em>He’s backing away looking up at the building scanning all the possible entry points. All darkened, all alluding to something more sinister. </p><p>“What’s going on?” Beau’s disembodied voice whispers. </p><p>“This window doesn’t lead anywhere, there’s just a <em> wall</em>,” Veth whispers back. Beau mimics her friend’s curse. “What do we do now?” </p><p>Caduceus silently weaves between them, stepping in front of Caleb and placing a hand on the unveiled wall. He bows his head a little, almost like he’s listening to something. They watch on curiously. “I can get through this,” he says. He hands the staff off to Jester, who takes it without word, and he takes out something from his pouch. “Give me a moment, please.” </p><p>The seconds are long and tense as the firbolg works something in his hands until satisfied he presses what Veth thinks is clay against the wall and utters an incantation. Nothing happens for an inconceivable amount of time- and then the bricks are morphing. Under Caduceus’ arm, Veth watches as several of the bricks almost melt and fade away, pushing into the sides and out, creating a sealed tunnel between the wall and window frame. The room it opens up into is equally as dark. It’s plenty wide for Veth, though she thinks Yasha will need a bit of help squeezing in. </p><p>As for the stone border now joining window to wall- well they never said they weren’t going to leave behind <em>any</em> trace, just tidy up ones that won't take long. Stealth <em> is </em> their primary target, but they were under no illusions that they were going to get in and out without raising some sort of ruckus and time was more valuable than covering their vague tracks. </p><p>At an unspoken signal, Veth clambers through. </p><p>Her landing isn’t smooth- there’s furniture pushed up against the wall but luckily only a desk or something just as flat under the hole. Bracing on it she lowers herself to the ground, a few bits of paper fluttering behind her. She’s hesitant as her foot reaches into the darkness, half-imagining an endless pit at the bottom, just <em> waiting </em>for her balance to give way and fall forever - only to find solid ground. Her relief is audible. Secured in her footing, she looks around. The only light is coming from the hole they now made, it takes a few moments for her eyes to adjust. She almost misses her goblinoid vision. Almost. </p><p>There’s shelves, and boxes she thinks. A vague outline of a door is ahead but she dare not step any further.</p><p>“Can I get a bit of light, please?” she stage-whispers, and a moment later Caduceus’ staff is poking through- the crystal dimly lit. She takes it from him and stands it upright, more than double her height. The room is surprisingly wide, and she’d guess the two windows flanking their entry one would also have led here. It looks like luck is in their favour though as one is blocked by a wardrobe of some kind, and another some shelves. A single door stands sentinel across from her, and from earlier inspection no light peaks through the sides or bottom. </p><p>Her footing is solid and stable, just a flagstone floor and holding the staff out like a pole she sweeps the light carefull (though almost initially dropping it, the staff is <em>heavy</em>) across to check for any footprints or tripwires. A hurried noise comes from the window and she hears Beau clamber in, settling on the desk.</p><p>“Are we safe? We need to move, the next patrol is coming soon.” Veth wasn’t satisfied at <em> all </em>with her search but time was against them. </p><p>“Yeah it’s safe for now, just be careful I haven’t had time to check thoroughly.” </p><p>“It’ll have to do,” Beau answers, and over the next couple of minutes the rest of her party joins her. Caduceus takes back his staff and dims the light as the sound of footsteps and movement outside grow louder. They didn’t have time to shut the window- now wider from having to let in their larger bodies. Fjord is quick to notice and pinches some fleece, murmuring. Soon they are looking at an undisturbed window and then a blank wall face over it. </p><p>The illusion holds for the minute as the patrol passes by, unnoticing anything. It fades away and they are left with the evidence of their presence once more. </p><p>“Good thinking, Fjord,” Yasha says, admiringly. He gives a breathless half-smile in response, one hand cupping the back of his head as he glances nervously to the window again. Caduceus lights up a little again. </p><p>Beau seems to be already looking at the door and checking the lock judging by sounds from over there and most stand awkwardly waiting. </p><p>Veth sees Caleb standing a little way over, separated from the group and  looking at- <em> a figure?! </em></p><p>No- it’s a stand holding a staff uniform. It’s not the darker colours of the Crownsguard, but the greys of attendants they saw previously. It’s a different cut, almost like an older style, and the cobwebs draping off it would support that. In fact there’s a lot of dust and cobwebs in here the longer she looks around. This room appeared to be mostly unused. If it were daylight she would surely see their footprints marking the ground with their shuffles. That might be a good thing for them. </p><p>Something glints with Caduceus’ light to her left, and she looks to beside the desk where they entered. Carefully she approaches a trolley of some kind, and pulls back a dirty cloth half-covering a silver tray. </p><p>There are implements along it. Sharp ones, pointed ones. Gruesome ones. There’s maybe fifteen or more lined up neatly, waiting to be used. Some are knives- gnarled, twisted, and curved. Some of the blades are cruelly serrated, others made for careful slicing. There’s hooks, and scalpels of different sizes. There’s two sets of tongs, and a pair of pointed pincers. There’s even a couple of devices Veth has no name for, just that any image she conjured of their possible use was horrific. Almost all the items had some sort of magical runes or symbology etched into their handles. They could be channeled through. </p><p>Sitting just off of the tray are two pairs of rusted manacles. She wonders what this all is, and does so out loud. </p><p>“They are the tools of our trade.” She jumps as Caleb silently manifests over her shoulder. A pale hand reaches out over her and dances over the instruments. "Eodwulf's were obsidian black - dark like his eyes." There’s a look in his own eyes, and a...almost a <em> fondness </em>in his voice that she recognises- from times when she was intimate with her husband. "Astrid's were steel silver, like her mind." His fingers caress the aged apparatus, like welcoming an old lover back into his embrace. "Mine were stained in bronze and copper- to match my hair," he hums thoughtfully. </p><p>Veth doesn’t pretend to hide the way she shrinks back from him. His face is obscured in shadow, but his familiarity with the equipment is too much to be able to ignore. “C-Caleb-?” </p><p>“Veth? <em>Veth</em>! Com’ere!” Beau breaks the moment and calls her to the door. With a final glance to Caleb, who still stares at the tray, she hurriedly darts over and begins unlocking the door. She's grateful for the distraction.</p><p>When she hears a satisfied <em> click, </em> she risks a glance to Widogast once more. He’s standing at the back of the group, expression blank and watching her intently over Fjord’s shoulder. It’s a distant look, calculating almost. This place was awful, it was changing him.</p><p>It's at this point, readying to look into the corridor, that Veth realises that even though he’s spoken about it she never <em>quite</em> put together that he was on <em> both </em> sides of occupants staying within these walls. He might have been captive and imprisoned longer, but his memories of his training here were <em> clearer</em>. He did make it all the way through this disciplining and up to graduation after all, now that she thought about it. Caleb really was good at <em>anything</em> he set his mind to- and that would include his Scourger education.</p><p>Deeply disturbed she opens the door a fragment and pops her head through, suddenly needing something between her and his unwavering stare.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Descent</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>edits made 13/04/20 because apparently no matter how many times I read and re-read before publishing, I always miss a small handful of spelling and grammar mistakes T_T</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The line of light spilling through the opening door was candled and weak. His own was a soft, pink hue, reminiscent of a summer sunrise or spring dusk. Caduceus dulled this light, shielding what little remained with his body between the window and source. They didn’t want anybody on the outside seeing a bobbing mote of pink light now after all. </p><p>They watched on silently as Veth pulls the door open inch-by-inch, stopping to listen before continuing. It was a slow, methodical process, but he respected her patience. It was necessary precautions, especially as the hinges on the long-unused door started to complain the further it went. </p><p>Soon, after Veth’s shoulders hunched up to her face inch-by-inch with each <em> creeeaaak, </em>she soon had enough room to fit her head through. He tilted his head a fraction, ears twitching, listening out for what he could. . . which surprisingly wasn’t much at all. </p><p>His friends’ breathing were various rates of anxious. Yasha had the slow, calm breaths of a seasoned hunter, used to waiting silently for her prey and not alerting them to her presence. Veth was the opposite- all manners of ‘<em>oh-ooo- oh no- ah just-! No, no shhh please-</em>’ murmured under her breath as she set about her stationary scouting. She was doing well. </p><p>The others fell in between, with Beau maintaining focus and Jester a little ruffled. Fjord shifted in front of him a bit with his arms crossed, but was otherwise practicing deep, deliberate inhales like he and Beau had taught him. </p><p>Caleb, however- Caleb fell into the category of being stiller than the muscled woman standing behind Caduceus. He had to really strain to hear anything from the wizard. It was rare to see him exert his full height, only ever doing so when he needed to issue a dominating stance when necessary. These were the first few glimpses that Caduceus had seen of his “old” self. Usually when the vague threats worked in their favour, Caleb would relax and slouch again, quickly shedding and divesting of the persona as fast as possible. Now, however, it slipped back on with too much ease for comfort, buttoned up almost too cosily. Like it never stopped fitting. </p><p>He had seen the brief exchange with Veth by the desk, though not what they spoke about. He knew that she came back looking shaken and alarmed. Sparing a quick glance back, Caduceus saw a metallic trolley with a tattered cloth fully covering the top. Hmm. </p><p>His ears flicker at a floorboard creaking, but that’s just Fjord adjusting his stance. </p><p>The house itself was large. From the map they had studied, dirt-drawn and accurate to old blueprints he was told, there were three main buildings. The centre one and its other companion joined by a connecting hallway. This was a standalone building with the two towers pressed into corners of the estate. </p><p>Caduceus had grown up in a stone house. A worn house. An <em> old </em>house. He is very aware that architecture years and years old have quirks and personalities. They have voices, and complaints about their bones. Movement is recorded in creaks and weaknesses- especially places with multiple occupants. </p><p>And yet Caduceus got <em> nothing </em>from here. No sleepy footsteps, no aching frame joints or dripping water. Not to mention, people weren’t usually the only occupants in houses, especially places as big as this yet he was only aware of one animal creature in their vicinity. There should be more- flies, spiders, mice. The Blooming Grove temple had lots of those little friends. Most were generations old like his own family, others were new, seeking sanctuary from the woods and spreading blight. Yeah. He liked having those around, especially when it was just him. They made it all seem just a little less lonely. He’d found among his travels these last few months that homes and dwellings were really the same throughout the world in that aspect- having “pests” and the like. Their scurrying was a sign that he was in a decent place since they were alive to scurry. </p><p>Except now. When he heard <em> nothing</em>. </p><p>And that unnerved him more than he could say. Something was <em> very </em>wrong with this place, he could tell even without Caleb’s detailed intelligence and history. His face pulls into a reluctant smile. </p><p>Caleb had said, from what he remembered and hoped still held true, that the main manor for the low-tier “patients”, with a slightly more ‘severe’ ward adjoining it. The towers were classrooms, storage, and staff sleeping quarters. That meant that this singular building was more extra-space in times of war, rebellion- whatever warranted it. In Caduceus’ mind that made it an ideal entry point, especially as it was close to Essek’s location. </p><p>The ‘ping’ (as his friends call it) for the wizard was like a tug behind him. The spot was closest beneath his feet when they were outside the window, located behind the house and under the soil. Now that he was closer, he was able to tell how far below Essek truly was and the answer was further than he liked. Unfortunately it was this underworld below where political prisoners, highly manic patients, or dangerous individuals were kept. Essek was likely to be down here, if anywhere, Caleb had speculated in their planning. But all the information they had on that was blind. The blueprints hadn't detailed those, only alluding to these older river caverns. So they had to go into the unknown to find their friend. </p><p>For all Caduceus was a gravekeeper, the thought of something being forcibly kept below ground against their wishes<em> angered </em>him. Especially when he knew that individual personally. His fear melted into something more pointed and barbed. </p><p>Thankfully, the awareness on the edge of his senses wasn’t moving. It should hopefully make, what did Beau call it? <em> extraction </em>go well. The fact that they got something at all meant he was alive and Caduceus had sent a vulnerable wave of gratitude to the Wildmother for that. </p><p>He was a misguided, lonely soul, Essek. All he needed was an earlier intervention, a reaching out of a hand from a friend. Hopefully, in more ways than one, they weren’t too late to save him. But they needed him in person to start that particular guidance. Which meant saving him. Which meant that all they needed to do now was find him. And that meant going down. </p><p>Veth brings her head back in and closes the door with a low groan and a visible wince. </p><p>“Psst! I can’t,” she stutters in an act of attempting stealth, one hand gesticulating wildly in the dark. “See. <em> Any</em>. One. At. <em> All</em>!!” </p><p>“Is that a good sign?” Beau whispers back from his right. </p><p>Caduceus chimes in. “I don’t know,” </p><p>“Want me to take a look on my own? Or- hey, C… Caleb? W-where’s F-F-Frumpkin?” </p><p>Several heads swivel to the wizard, but Caduceus lingers on Veth and her verbal stumble. That definitely wasn’t good. He looks at the man beside him. </p><p>“He is not here at the moment and we haven’t time to wait for him. Let’s go ahead.” Caleb slides past with a bit too much force and pulls the door open, flooding the room with light to the stifled protests of his companions. Yasha starts and swings to look out the window, before taking a discarded, dusty sheet and spreading it over. She tucks and jams it into the frame hoping it’s enough. Beau swears under her breath at ‘dumb, <em> stupid </em> wizard’ while Fjord and Jester cry <em> ‘Caleb-</em>!’</p><p>Veth shrinks back. </p><p>Caleb pays no mind and steps fully out into the hallway, looking left with calculating intent, and then right. He flinches as though struck, and freezes. Caduceus can see over the heads of his friends exactly what Caleb is undergoing. He is unmoving, wide-eyed, and a growing expression of what Caduceus recognises to be <em> nausea </em>spreads across his face. His skin loses colour rapidly in the sickly light, and small beads of perspiration already sprouting at his hairline. His eyes are darting manically from side to side, head shaking a little-</p><p>“<em>Caleb</em>! Are you- what are you doing- ? Caleb?” Beau’s voice comes from beside the wizard, low and alarmed. Caleb’s shoulder shakes from an unseen source. “Hey man, what’s wrong?”</p><p>“D-different building, <em> ja</em>. S-still looks the same,” was the low, almost imperceivable whisper that answered. “S-still looks the s-same.” Caleb’s arms are mechanically reaching for each other as fingers start to drag along and along and along- until something halts them forcibly with some effort. </p><p>“Hey-<em> hey </em> man, you’re not a prisoner any more. We’re here with you. Hey!” a snapping noise is heard. “Caleb! We need you to be with us too!” Beau hisses in frustration. “Hey- uhh- oh! Think about Essek! We need-”</p><p>As Essek’s name, Caleb starts, disengaging from staring down the hall and right where he must think Beau is. The arms snap heavily to the side, stilled and taut, fists clenched. The terror and queasiness sharpens into resolve once more. “Yes. Yes we need to move. Let’s go.” He pushes past Beau -who protests- and soft steps are heard as he exits the doorway properly. </p><p>Good. This was <em> good</em>. Caleb was still in there. He was still in reach, not wholly lost to them yet. </p><p>Jester scrambles and follows, with several other pairs of boots joining nervously. They all file out, each taking a long, wary look left, before following in a skittish chain after Caleb. Caduceus is last, remaining in the room. </p><p>He crouches down, using his staff for balance, and holds out a hand to the biting dark. From out of the shadows of a disused desk, a little black rat comes squeaking out and gratefully up Caduceus’ arm with a little sniff. Frumpkin nestles on his shoulder, tittering away. He pets the familiar with one long, soft finger. “I know, it’s only for a little while. We’ll get him back soon. I promise. We don’t want your master to break. Just a little longer.”</p><p>Caduceus steps into the hallway. </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He can see why everyone took a long look left stepping out. The hallway extends into some sort of grandish foyer with the bottom of a sweeping staircase peeking out. Beyond that was a mirrored corridor of the one they were in, looming away from them in an elongated space. He didn’t often feel vulnerable and exposed in a house with narrow corridors, but right now it felt more imposing than facing off against a bull-like creature that had kept his family from him. He closes the door as quietly as possible, and turns right. </p><p>This end of the corridor is shorter, the doors on both sides interspersed at identical intervals. The colour scheme is browns, and umber, and deeper browns. It pretends to be a warm, inviting place, but the chill setting into his senses overwhelms any attempted illusion to the contrary. </p><p>His long legs allowed him to catch up before Jester’s spell was out of his range. The hallway was carpeted with a simple interweaving autumnal pattern, aged floorboards beneath him announcing each step with a muted moan. It muffles most of their steps and the party stops, bunching together when they reach a corner. A little futter under his hair stirs Caduceus’ attention and he reaches up to scritch at Frumpkin.</p><p>Caduceus settles into the back of the line while Caleb peers around the next corner, weighing their options. Between the turning of the corridor and where Caduceus stands is another door, similar to the one they had exited. The frame, he notes, is cracked and a little splintered. The smell of slight rot and mold tickle his nose. The door itself is more ornate than most he’s seen elsewhere, deep grooves and faded patterns on the inset panels.  And of course, it’s when the group are given the all clear and starting to move around, that the door opens, and a grey-clothed human steps through. </p><p>“Ha- yeah! I’ll get some for ya, Roy- oh! <em> What the </em>-” </p><p>Reflex controls him and Caduceus whips up his shield to crack the woman in the chin, sending her flying backwards into the room with a cry where he follows. </p><p>The next few seconds are a blur. Yasha barrels past Caduceus in tight-lipped expediency, charging his target and tackling her into a central table. Two chairs overturn. Beau seems to be next as a second figure- another human- in the room starts up from a couch behind the door and gets pummeled across the face, blood flying. The third figure rounds the table- a gnome - and cries out at the ambush before Fjord is there cracking her across the forehead with the pommel of his summoned sword. She stumbles with a yelp, but scurries past him almost drunkenly and ends up being kicked in the chest by Veth who blocks the doorway now. A glowing pink flame flies from above Veth and into the gnome, knocking her into one of the chairs and unconscious.</p><p>Behind Veth, Caleb and Jester stand with raised hands, battle-ready as they all wait for any sign of movement. There is none- from down <em> here</em>.</p><p>Heads snap upwards as footsteps and an opening door echo throughout from above. One- <em> two </em>pairs of feet are walking with purpose across the landing. </p><p>“Shit! <em> Shit</em>!!” more than one voice echoes. <em> “Get in! Get! In!” </em> Movement is hurried as they scramble into the room. Yasha is moving the bodies out of the way to the hidden couch, chairs righting themselves as if by magic. </p><p>“Uhh!! Uh-uhh- <em> oh</em>!” Veth scurries over to where Yasha is, moving something out of the way. A moment passes, Caduceus hears footsteps thundering down the far staircase, and Veth seems to shimmer. In place as she turns around, she looks like the gnome lying unconscious on the couch- clothes and all.</p><p>“Good idea!” Fjord whispers. He rushes to the pile of people, taking in the features, then he is looking like the male human ‘Roy’. </p><p>“Psst, hide behind the door!” Beau hisses. Caleb and Yasha all squeeze into just behind the door. Caduceus stands awkwardly on the other side weighing his options. The footsteps are growing louder. He decides to join them, saving his racial magic.  Jester reaches out to touch Fjord on the shoulder, but then thinks better of it citing ‘oh no, I better not do that-’ before hurrying to slot in beside Caduceus. He does take notice of the fury in Caleb’s flared expression. Feigning a glance to the shut door, he can see the vein in his temple throb while he strains his head.</p><p>Veth and Fjord double-check and situate themselves just as the footsteps are reaching their door - Veth throws it open first, acting surprised. </p><p>“Oh! Oh <em> heeey-</em>! “ her voice is pitchy and cracks a little. She covers it with a cough.</p><p>“What happened? We heard a ruckus.” A deep voice infiltrates the room and Jester shrinks down beside him, hands clasped tightly around her mouth. Caduceus reaches one hand up slowly to rub a thumb on her shoulder.</p><p>“Ha ha! Yeah! that was- that was Reg- uh, <em> Roy</em>!”she laughs nervously. Caduceus can hear the way she shifts on her feet, hands fiddling. The growing disbelief thickens from the corridor. A sound of two heavy boots moving forward worries them. </p><p>‘Roy’ stands awkwardly by the table, dramatically leaning on one of the askew chairs, rubbing his head with a little too much gusto. He gives a very awkward wave and smiles out the door. “S-sorry about that,” he mumbles. “F-fell over! Ha! Heh...Clumsy meee!”</p><p>“Y-yeah, haha!” Veth chimes in. “Two left feet that one. Uh- everything’s fine! Appreciate the check-in though!”</p><p>There’s a long stretch of silence. Almost a heartbeat too long. The two booted feet move forward once more, and Veth backs up into the room as a result - right into their eyeline. Caduceus can see her fighting the urge to look at them. The shadow of a tall figure covers her. From the corner of his eye, Caduceus sees Caleb slowly lift one hand, and the thrum of magic tickles Caduceus’ hair. He grips his staff a little tighter. Yasha’s hand moves up to one of her hilts- </p><p>“All right- just be careful, yeh?” a second voice comes from the corridor - somewhat squeaky and accented. </p><p>“Yep!”</p><p>“<em>Willll </em> do!” ‘Roy’ winks with a shaky smile at the intrusion.</p><p>And Veth reaches to close the door, boots reluctantly backing up as she walks it forward, waving beyond it it until it clicks shut. She presses her cheek and ear against it, gnomish face scrunched up in concentration.</p><p>The footsteps don’t start for a few more seconds, slower and less immediate, but as soon as they’re out of earshot and heading up the stairs there is a collective sigh of relief. Veth collapses to her knees and Fjord collapses on the chair for real, breathing heavily. </p><p>“Oh- oh <em> god- </em>” Veth is hyperventilating. Jester runs to rub her back. “This is so <em>stressful</em>.”</p><p>“Well done, Veth! And Fjord-” she looks to the man and his illusion fades away. He slumps on to the table properly, hands hanging loosely in his lap as he stares at the door. Caduceus walks over to pat his shoulder. Fjord rocks a little to one side with a wince as a hard ‘thump’ is heard on his other arm. </p><p>Beau speaks up “Good thinking you two- that could have been troublesome.” </p><p>“<em>Could have </em>-? Oh - hoo boy,” he answers between breaths, dragging his hands across his face. He moves to pick up his sword where he'd thrown it on the couch, still shaken.</p><p>“We need to keep moving. Tie up the others and let’s <em> go</em>,” Caleb snaps, moving to the door and rudely pushing Veth out of the way to peek out. </p><p>There’s a moment of shared, darting glances as though they want to collectively say something, but then Yasha is moving and seeing to the people they knocked out. They looked like the attendants they had seen previously- in sleet grey uniforms, smartly cut and functional hairstyles. Veth still looked like a bloodless version of the gnome being tied up currently. The room, like its disused neighbour next door, is windowless and red-bricked. For what purpose he doesn’t know, but this room seems more frequented as a rest room judging by the playing cards on the floor and table, and general comforts scattered around. </p><p>“Maybe they’re night shift?” Jester ponders, helping Yasha lift and move the knocked out folk.  Ah yeah, that’d make sense, Caduceus thinks. </p><p>“Oh-!” Yasha holds up what appears to be a set of several keys, and she receives several looks of appreciation. “This might be handy,” she says simply. Caleb glances at her and nods, then steps back out into the hallway. Gagged and bound, the individuals are lined up along the beaten couch leaning heavily on each other. There shouldn’t be any trouble following them. </p><p>When they exit stealthily , the queue forms behind the corner where Caleb peaks round again. Caduceus brings up the rear with an invisible Beau, keeping eyes and ears turned behind them. </p><p>“Yasha, keys.” Caleb holds his hand out behind him, keeping his gaze fixated around the corner. Yasha tilts her head, contemplating rebuttal, but then wordlessly reaches the ring out. Caleb snatches them with a jingle. “Let’s go.” He rounds the corner, threatening once again to irresponsibly leave Jester’s radial spell. That won’t do. </p><p>The corridor around the corner is deeper than the room width they’d just exited- which was suspicious. They had come around the outside of this building, where the back was flat along the face and yet this indicated an outcrop of some kind to produce such an L-shape. </p><p>Frumpkin sniffs at his ear, leaning up on his armour collar to do so. Yes, he thought. Something wasn’t right about this place at all. </p><hr/><p>Caleb was ahead by a few feet, passing by three more doors on the longer side - which, again, there shouldn’t <em>be </em>rooms there by Caduceus’ impression of the house- bringing them up to a taller, wider doorway at the end. He didn’t dare voice it out loud, but he could see from Fjord and Jester’s double takes they too were caught by surprise by the odd architecture arrangement. They gathered round this new door, unable to give more thought to the unusual layout and wait. Giving space and light to Caleb as he knelt expertly to inspect the door, there's muttering and key jangling as he flits back and forth between the ring in his hand and the lock. Veth edges up behind him nervously, gesturing. </p><p>She was spared an impatient glance, before he thought better of it and moved aside, fiddling with the keys still. Veth takes over the inspecting.</p><p>In the light of the corridor, fainter and weaker than the rest room they just exited, Caduceus stared at Caleb. He realised that in this poorer glow, and standed next to a now-disguised Veth, Caleb’s shirt and long, fitted tunic was almost the exact shade of grey as the attendants they had just dealt with. With the right placement of the panels and buttoning, he imagined it could fashion into a similar style too. With his hair drawn back as tightly as it was, all business, Caleb could very easily have settled on the staff here without a second glance. </p><p>Veth clears the lock for traps, and Caleb steps forward with a particular key held up from the ring. He takes a deep inhale, and inserts it into the lock. </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The stairs going down unnerved Caduceus. They were indicative of a small, attached round tower (as the stairs also went up) that was not there when they scouted the location. Nor did they run into anything invisible-but-solid engineered addition approaching this corner of the house from the outside. They had doubled back after entering on the direction they came and <em>none</em> of it was making sense. </p><p>As they slowly descend this spiral, Caduceus’ ‘ping’ was going all over the place. At one point it was twenty feet to his left, then a good sixty or more feet behind him. Standing still on a stair settled it a little but it was jittery, and he didn’t think Essek was moving. Whether by some illusory or disruptive magic, he couldn’t guess, but it was suddenly going to make it a lot harder to find their quarry. </p><p>Much like the staircase in the tower they climbed down previously, this one came to an abrupt end at a solid door. Before there had been a laboratory of some kind. This time, they had no idea. </p><p>It was rinse and repeat for Gnome-Veth and Caleb, and he selects a different key on the ring, a heavier one. The door was smaller than its upstairs companion, but Caduceus struggled to see any details from the back and so high up on the stairs. He was crouching as is, his staff supporting him from the stair or two below. The steps themselves weren’t wide and Caduceus had to get creative angling his feet for secure purchase. It really wasn’t a smart idea for him to be at the back. If he tumbled, he would have done so into all of them. </p><p>There’s a dense <em> click </em> from the door and they hold their breaths. </p><p>And wait. </p><p>And wait. </p><p>After a small amount of time, the lock seemed to click back into place on its own. <em>Huh</em>. </p><p>Caleb waits for a small period of time, the rest around getting a little antsy being stuck at the bottom of a stairwell, before he unlocks it again with that audible <em> click </em> and opens the door outwards. </p><p>He raises a hand to indicate <em> stay here </em> while he unkindly pushes Veth ahead of him with her disguise. Caduceus frowns at that, but focuses on Essek’s location. He’s currently situated at the opposite end of the grounds according to Caduceus’ internal compass, but he didn’t trust it. At the moment.  </p><p>Oh. Now he’s three feet behind Caduceus- no, now upstairs above. And he's supposedly half-way into the wall beside him. This was really irritating-</p><p>His ears twitch as there’s a cry of surprise from Veth- and then there’s talking. But not from either of them. </p><p>Veth's voice floats towards them, “uhh yeah, we’re just here to change the - the uh, the...shifts?” </p><p>And then there’s a flash of light from beyond the door, and a commotion- the rest of the Mighty Nein are moving through the door to intervene-</p><p>Except it isn’t necessary. The gasps of horror and shock should have been enough warning but Caduceus rounds the corner in a lumber just in time to see Caleb pulling a smoking hand away from a uniformed guard’s mouth. </p><p>A peeled and flesh-burnt rictus is all that remains of his lower face. Skin beneath the nose melts and fuses to the now exposed musculature and bone bared to the open air. It was cool down here, he now notes, as steam equally hot as it is rancid rises from the collapsed guard. There is a hand-shaped, liquefying outline losing its form as the flesh around it seeps and collapses into the cheeks. A blackened, ashen, crumbling lump is all that remains of his tongue. The throat is red and blistering outwardly with heat and burst blood vessels that seem to have invaded his airways. The dark Crownsguard tabard is now stretched and tearing at the seams with his bloated torso. His eyes have rolled back in his head and grotesquely enough, he’s still twitching. </p><p>Caduceus doesn’t even look at Caleb as he drops to his knees to inspect the damage. It was too severe- too extensive and internal. He didn’t know <em> where to start-</em></p><p>But it doesn't matter as a coagulated puff of air rebels against all the smoke from his mouth, expelling in a croaked gurgle- and the twitching stops. </p><p>There’s other voices gagging and choking and coughing and swearing, but Caduceus cannot hear them as he draws up to full height and rounds on the wizard. Caleb doesn’t even look at him, eyes fixed unseeing on the murdered man below. </p><p>Caduceus grabs him roughly by the chin, forcing his face into Caleb’s space. <em>“Look at me.” </em> It’s spat through gritted teeth, fury filling him now. “Look at me! <em>That</em> was unnecessary and horrifyingly excessive.” Caleb’s eyes slowly, as though through molasses, turn to stare unfocused at Caduceus. “We will <em>deal</em> with this after the mission is done. But mark my words, we <em> are </em>dealing with this.” There's little response. "Don't lose yourself, <em>Caleb</em>." He stresses the name, and a faint flicker of recognition passes those blue eyes. "Not here. Not again. Don't give them that satisfaction of proving them <em>right</em> about you. Don't let yourself succumb and get swallowed whole by your past." He waits for a moment, seeing some tiny sign that his words got through, and he all but thrusts Caleb’s chin away. Caleb doesn’t even resist, and sways instead. Frumpkin cowers deep into Caduceus' collar now. </p><p>Caduceus struggles to breathe with the stench of burning flesh beneath him, but a new distraction pops up in the direction of the corridor ending not forty feet from them. There’s a single door in view, and it looks like another corner to the right of it going who-knows-where. The entire place was built in deep red brick.</p><p>Looking around now- he sees the stairs opened up into a junction of sorts, either going left for forty feet or right for ten. They had been very reckless in charging in here, and others realise the same as Yasha moves to view around the closer corner. Jester and Veth stare horrified with muffled gags between Caleb and the dead guard. Fjord looks ill also, but charges down the other way without saying anything to stand watch. His sword is held in a knuckle-white grip. He can only imagine Beau’s face with the huffs of heavy, controlled breathing coming a little behind him. </p><p>He holds himself steady for a moment, contemplating asking the Wildmother to help calm the emotions of his immediate party. It takes two difficult, sickening inhales, but he decides against it, not wishing to lose Essek's location for now. Especially as it seems to be holding steady in one position since exiting the stairs.</p><p>He points down the direction Fjord went, at the door visible on the end. “Come, I have a hit this way.” Caleb is shoved ahead of him, assumedly by Beau, and he stumbles forward gracelessly. Caduceus looks to the poor soul on the ground and goes to move him. Yasha overshadows him, picking up the guard with relative ease. Her face is a dark expression of worry. </p><p>He imagines all of them were showing the same concerned grimace now. All except one. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ooft.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Shackles of a Different Kind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Guys- thank you <i>so, so</i>  much again for your wonderful feedback.  You're absolutely amazing and your continued support and reactions are honestly driving me with each comment &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “You are going to see horrors inside. Unkind evidence of foul misdeeds. The entire place is cruelty built on more cruelty. It is a vile place filled with vile intent and viler people. Do not be swayed by what you see or witness or hear. You will not be able to save them all. We go in, we get Essek. We get out. Understood?” </em>
</p><p>The guard wasn’t particularly heavy in her arms, though the stench was reminiscent of seared meat. It wasn’t the juicy, succulent smell of a good kill, it was the weak, mutilated stink of someone’s skin sloughing off after getting spat on with acid or steam. Caduceus had gathered the fallen spear, toppled after the hand released it in its death throes. No evidence remained on the ground, not even a spot of blood. The firebolt had cauterised mostly everything, the rest seeping and falling down the cheeks and throat. What was left of them.</p><p>It was a gruesome act. A malicious one. Effective, though. </p><p>Yasha pads forward with the corpse, keeping to the back with the odorous remains. Fjord stands at the dim corner ahead of them- a few weak, flickering sconces paving their way. Magical fire. No heat. The only source of such was in her arms, faint steam trails rising in gristly waves. She twists her head a little, the scent a little too noxious. </p><p>Save Caduceus, she stands taller than the rest and peers over the heads of her friends to view a plain, heavy door. It had two wide, metal braces stretching across it and appeared to be iron or similar. She couldn’t see the handle or keyhole for Veth’s head already inspecting it. </p><p>There’s whispering going on between her and Beau, she thinks, but she can’t hear it clearly. Keys- no longer in Caleb’s hands- jingle and slot to little success it seems. She looks behind her instead. The corridor up to their entrance and probably exit seemed longer than it was to walk. She also felt very exposed with so much open space behind her. She turns to Caduceus, hoping for a reassuring smile- but he stares forward, frowning. </p><p>Hmm. His outburst a few minutes ago was a rare thing to witness. It came from a good place, she thought, but then perhaps so had Caleb. The guard was dispatched quickly and quietly enough, and could have been a problem otherwise. Perhaps it was more the <em> how </em> than the <em> why</em>. Not all efficient ways were polite. </p><p>She goes to nudge Caduceus in the shoulder, to offer a little comfort like he does with her so many times, but the body’s arm swings freely and taps his thigh instead. <em> Ah</em>. He turns to her, face… face <em> sad</em>, but inquisitive, and she offers what she hopes is her own reassuring smile. </p><p>He studies her for a few moments, then gives a bob of his pink head. He understands. He’s grateful. She is too. </p><p>“Psst- <em> Caducey!</em> Are you sure you felt something in here?” Veth’s scratched voice carries their way. </p><p>Caduceus lifts his head, looking a little to the left of the door, into the sharp corner where the two corridor walls meet. He nods solemnly. “Yes,” the staff points a little that way. “Through there at least. And close.”</p><p>Veth and Beau huff. “Okay...boy. This is a toughie. Keys don't fit. Gimme a moment” And she sets about again. </p><p>It was only less than a half-minute, she’d wager, but it felt so much longer in the vulnerable confines where they stood. She shifts. Jester ahead of her shuffles away a little, a little hand pinching her nose. Yasha turns around to face the other way, loose limbs swaying with the motion. The guard was young-ish. Maybe thirties, human. She has no idea. Didn’t matter now.</p><p>Eventually there’s a satisfied ‘click’, and a momentary scrape of metal on stone-which is halted with a gasp and a wince. A scrape again, then it stops. And <em> again </em>. Until it seems they’re satisfied with the door width to step in. </p><p>“Hey! Could use some light up in here!” Beau mutters impatiently. “Oi, Caleb!” A soft clap is heard closer. A single ‘fwump’ sounds and there’s illumination casting blurred shadows in Yasha’s eyeline. “Hmmph,” comes Beau’s response. The shadows dance away as the orb silently moves from them. She looks over her shoulder, seeing only Veth peer inside. The orb goes above her head. </p><p>The door isn’t wide enough to showcase its interior, but a gasp from Veth makes them all look up sharply. Had they- was he <em> there</em>? One gnomish hand waves at them to come forth, and one-by-one (with Caleb shuffling more than walking now) they enter.</p><p>It’s a cell. Not a used one, it seems. It’s empty save for some meagre, disused supplies. Iron rings were still bolted into the wall at various angles, and the room was barely big enough to contain them all. It stank of must. Wrinkling her nose, she quietly asks for people to part so she can set the body in her arms down. </p><p>It’s tight, and there’s bumping, but soon, the guard is settled in the far corner propped in a perverted fashion. She grimaces, and tries to fix the position, but then the head just lolls awfully to one side in a cruel, twisted smile. Rankled, Fjord backs up to step outside, leaning to look down the corridors, sword unlit in his hand. </p><p>“You felt him in here…?” Jester whispers to Caduceus. He’s frowning again, and looking at the wall to the left of the doorway. Bowing, he walks a few steps, all limbs, and presses one long hand along the dry stone. </p><p>“Hmm. Yes. Here. On the other side I think. It was a little messy on the stairs, his location buzzing around me like a fly, but it’s been holding steady in this direction since we settled on one level.”</p><p>Jester’s hands clap together excitedly. “So we can just go through the stone and get him, right? Essek is right here!” and she bounces from foot to foot, earlier horror forgotten - or displaced. She makes to run to the wall, but Caleb is already striding ahead of her and kneeling, feeling expertly around the bricks for- something. Yasha doesn’t know what. </p><p>“You can manipulate stone, <em> ja</em>?” he throws out to the group. Jester stills her happiness immediately. Yasha doesn’t like that. </p><p>“I can.” Caduceus replies, not with warmth either. His fingers spread along the brick again, and he pulls a face. “But this wall is too thick for me alone. I can only do five feet or so.” </p><p>“I- I can do it too,” Jester says quietly. Caduceus shakes his head. “No, the wall is too thick for the stone to be displaced at all. I dont think it’s a case of me doing it, and then you doing it.”</p><p>“W-we could try? I - I mean- there...there has to be <em> something </em>. C-”, she chokes a little, glancing over her shoulder at the cooling guard. “C-Cay-leb y-you c-can tr-transmute stone, right?” </p><p>Caleb was still kneeling, staring at the wall as though to intimidate it into giving all the answers to him. Like Caduceus he had a hand on the wall- no, <em> two</em>. One above his head, and the other just trailing it with his fingertips. </p><p>“<em>Ja </em> . I could. It would take a while though,” he takes a breath, muttering in Zemnian. “It would be a <em> long </em> while. About ten minutes per cubic foot.” He carries on calculating to himself, fingers running across the brick seams. “Ja, we could do that. I can spend close to an hour creating a hole big enough for one of you to get through and then you can move the rest and we can get to him-”</p><p>“Caleb, that’s a long ass time to be transmuting shit. They’re going to notice something up around here soon with three unconscious upstairs and- and one <em> dead </em>and missing down here.” Beau’s voice comes from near the door. </p><p>“Not to mention the guard outside,” Yasha supplies. There’s a collective murmuring. </p><p>Beau agrees. “Yeah man, that was our hour’s head start, it’s already been- what? Half that? More?” </p><p>Caleb doesn’t answer, his shoulders hunching. The hand above his head scrapes nails across the stone into a tight fist. </p><p>“We haven’t got <em> time </em>for this. We need to take the long way round,” Beau presses.</p><p>Yasha watches the wizard wrestle with himself. They all do. His fist is shaking, shoulders rising and falling in deep huffs. She steps forward, subtly putting Caduceus and Jester behind her. Veth scurries away to the door. </p><p>She understood that frustration, that taunting insult of being so close yet so far. It was torture, it was brutal. Cruel. Of being within arm’s reach and unable to so much as touch them. Yes. She knew it well. </p><p>Yasha had once asked Caleb if he ‘loved her’. Now, she thinks she could ask ‘do you love <em> him</em>?’ She only hoped the answer this time wasn’t the same as last. That it wasn’t too late. His drive and focus was hellbent and beginning to create a warpath to reach their friend. Yasha admits privately that she recognises that feeling.  </p><p>The seconds tick by agonisingly, but Yasha waits and watches with practiced patience. Caleb’s shoulders slump in defeat, and she feels for him. The group relaxes a little.</p><p>“Come on, time’s ticking. We know we only have a few minutes probably for the first alarm to start sounding as soon as this invisibility wears off,” Beau’s voice drifts over them. Shuffling is heard near the door. “I’ll start scouting ahead this way while I can,” and a pitter-patter of soft-soled feet leaves them. Caduceus nods with a pained expression.</p><p>“We’ve nearly got him, just a little longer.” And he exits too, Veth following in his wake. Fjord stands at the door, frowning in concern at their friend on his knees. His eyes flit to the corpse in the corner, mouth thinning to a tight line. </p><p>“I’m sorry, Caleb,” is all he says, before returning to the hallway properly. </p><p>Jester is still standing behind Yasha, one hand holding onto her arm. The fingers barely reach half-way around. They watch as Caleb leans forward to press his forehead against the cold stone. Yasha looks away, and then down at Jester just as she releases her grip. She’s about to leave the disused chamber when-</p><p>His fist clenches once more and he <em> smashes </em>it into the wall with a guttural cry. </p><p>Yasha knows what broken bones sound like. They crunch, and splinter, and crack. It’s a fracture that splits and spreads as the force shatters as far as it can before the damage is fully absorbed. It can break the skin in little white shards, piercing and cutting through rivulets of red. </p><p>She hears it keenly now, before he’s overshadowed by Jester hurrying to his side to stop him trying again and damaging further. Yasha wouldn’t have stopped him. She didn’t make a move to try. He needed to get this out of his system. Her mouth scowls at the thought. Hypocritical perhaps. She could bottle her rage and fury, direct it. But she didn’t have to see herself do that. She preferred seeing her friend expend that anger, instead of holding onto it like the venom it can be. </p><p>She won’t pretend to ignore the change in Caleb these last couple of weeks. He’s become closed off, snappish. Unkind. </p><p>He was <em> scared</em>. </p><p>She didn't blame him. What little she had seen of this place creeped her out, but more than that, his behaviour at its mention in the past, and when they had first visited weeks prior hinted at nefarious and awful happenings. And now he was calling upon a braver version of himself to help him cope- and it made him erratic. </p><p>Cornered animals behaved like that all the time, she reflects. When they have nothing left to lose, when fear is looming over them. She usually goes in for a merciful, swift kill in these instances. It was kinder than extending the terror. Fear was a powerful motivator, but it was also deadly and vulnerable. Not just to external weaknesses either. </p><p>They needed to get Essek out <em> soon</em>. Not just for his own sake, but for Caleb’s too. He was unravelling the further into the shadowed corner he shrank. Any further and he'd be swallowed whole-  like Caduceus had said. </p><p>Yasha’s musings are interrupted by the unmistakable jingle of keys and the opening of a door down the hallway. The keys they had lay discarded now with the dead guard. </p><p>Instinctively she pulls Caleb and Jester up roughly, pressing them against the wall closest to the door, blocking them from sight. </p><p>But whoever it is they have friends as a collection of boots and voices enter the level. And they all see Fjord and Caduceus in the hallway. </p><p>“Ah <em> fuck- </em> ”<br/><br/>“Run!”</p><p>Commotion starts and their friends are rushing away. Yasha crowds her two friends in the corner, ready to unleash at anyone that stepped across the threshold. </p><p>There’s muffled protests from behind her, but she holds fast as she counts two, four- <em> seven </em>pairs of boots. Too many to handle immediately. Not with the group spread out now. </p><p>Caduceus and Fjord are out of earshot, with the boots coming closer- they were armoured, plate and mail. Fit guards too given their breathing and pace. One barks orders to <em> get them! </em>She sounds accented and old. The steps draw hurriedly nearer, the stone echoing the pounding of the feet- and they all ignore the open door to turn the corner giving chase to the rest of their party.</p><p>Wait- <em> no</em>. </p><p>Yasha ignores Jester’s squirming and distress, silently pulling out her sleek greatsword from its sheath. The hunters fade from earshot. Caleb’s floating light puffs out, but it’s too late. </p><p>One <em> clink-clink-clink </em>draws forward. A blade enters cautiously ahead of its wielder, the light breaking in the room. The hands are gauntleted and covered- the arms equally so. A tabard similar to the guard in the corner- and said corpse catches the intruder’s attention with a horrified gasp just as Yasha leaps and pounces, aiming an overhead strike to the plated head. She follows it up with a sweep across the neck and the woman convulses. Yasha reaches one forearm across to stop her tumbling and clattering, but the weapon drops from her grasp and Yasha fumbles to grab it missing wildly-</p><p>Then Caleb is there, reaching around her waist, long, left arm outstretched and one finger touching the blade. Gold dust shimmers all over his hand like wet sand, and they watch as it all floats from his hand grain by grain to draw into and around the sword. It gives one shimmer- all while remaining stationary mid-fall. </p><p>He breathes a sigh of relief, dropping his head- and his hand. </p><p>They wait a moment, and then Yasha drops the body carefully beside the other. They were trying to <em> avoid </em> this, she sighs. She turns to see Jester peeking out the door. </p><p>“I can’t see or hear them, you guys.” She reaches up to her hood for an animal that isn’t there. They agreed it was better to leave the weasel in the care of their new housekeeper for now. When stealth was tantamount, a squeaking, scared creature wasn’t the best thing to have around. </p><p>It still doesn’t make Yasha feel any better when Jester’s hand and face falls at petting nothing. </p><p>She strides forward, gently pushing past Jester to look down the hallways. Empty. Wherever their party is now, they’re out of perception range. She doesn’t know if it’s good or not that there’s no fighting to be heard.</p><p>“Let me send a message to Beau-” Jester carefully constructs a whispered spell and they wait. Caleb stands in the cell, high strung and his hands held at his side staring hard at the wall Essek was supposedly behind. He doesn’t appear to be bothered by the blood dripping to the ground from his broken hand- or the swelling pain she knows he must be in. </p><p>Jester gasps, listening to something unheard. She’s nodding, and worried. </p><p>“Beau says they’ve led them off, but they’re all okay, just trying to shake them loose. They’ll try to get rid of some if they can to stop the alarm sounding. But guys, her invisibility is going to wear off soon, the alarm will sound anyway.” Her voice is wobbly and she’s looking around frantically. </p><p>“We cannot join them for now, but they have Caduceus. They can still make it to Essek. Now that I know where he is, I can use that as a compass point.” Caleb answers, and starts analysing the cell again. He turns to the brick wall holding the rectangle of hallway light on it. </p><p>Placing his uninjured hand along it, he studies it. “Jester. Come here.” She jumps a little. It’s not an angry command, just a flat-stated one. “Please,” he tacks on. She shuffles past Yasha and up to the man. “Are you able to stone shape this? It might be less thick than the wall to Essek’s cell.”</p><p>“Um. I mean I can try? Let me see.” Jester grips her Traveler’s symbol tight and sets about checking the wall for- who knows what. Yasha keeps an eye on the corridors for any more unwanted visitors, skirting around the still-floating sword. </p><p>Jester is humming, and fussing while she examines. She seems to make an informed decision as soon she is framing an area on the wall, brushing away moss and cobwebs, with some clay. Once, she touches the boot of the burnt guard and suppresses a yelp. </p><p>The cell is so out of the way from other rooms. As far as she could see in either direction these were blank corridors save the sconces. Nothing remarkable at all. Just disorientating. At the end of the one the others had run off to, there was another left-turning corridor about fifty-feet down she would guess. For what purpose this singular cell held to be so close to the stair entrance and nothing else, she couldn’t fathom. This whole place was odd and wrong.</p><p>She looks to the wall where Essek was behind. Caleb’s blood was still smeared across it, though against the red brick it was almost impossible to see if it weren’t for the sheen of moisture. </p><p>Perhaps that’s why they chose red brick. </p><p>A sound perks up Yasha’s ears from the stairway- the door opening again. With fast reactive dexterity she closes their own door shut just before anyone could see it do so, and presses her body up to it, shrouding the room in darkness. Caleb lights a single globe again, placing it in a far corner to just give them enough dim light to not panic. Jester shakily slows her stone-shaping, hands embedded into the wall up to her wrist. The grinding and chalky gravel of the reworked bricks is like limestone being rubbed together- grating and scratchy.</p><p>More voices and boots fill the hallway. She didn’t know if this was normal changing of the guard or not, but after the previous group she felt it unlikely. Perhaps the alarm had already sounded. This did seem to be a bit too much traffic for this time of night.</p><p>Caleb moves beside her, unbroken hand on the hilt, and whispers a word. The floating sword becomes unstuck and he affixes it across the door like a bar, manoeuvering her out of the way silently. He finishes securing it (awkwardly with the one hand) just in time for more footsteps to approach their door- and push against it. </p><p>“Secure!” they hear. And the boots walk off. About four pairs this time, less in a rush. A sweeping team. </p><p>“Good thinking,” she says to him. He doesn’t acknowledge it. </p><p>“Let us move the bodies to cover the door bottom. Then I can safely light up more in here and the sword will have a soft landing when the spell ends.”</p><p>It was a decent idea, crude as it was, and Yasha starts to drag them over. Jester, making good progress, blanches at the rough-handling, but soon the two bodies are spread side-by-side ready to catch the weapon. </p><p>Jester finishes her spell.</p><hr/><p> </p><p>The hole leads into a small room. There’s no sound, and Caleb sends one of his now-three light globes through it. There’s a solid door directly across from them about six feet away, the same filthy flagstone floor, and an unmoving, emaciated man chained to the right-hand wall. </p><p>His chest is slowly rising and falling- almost so slowly that Yasha nearly missed it in the weak light. His clothes could barely be called rags, they covered so little. The lights don’t disturb him.</p><p>What they could see was vile pus-filled boils. They weren’t greenish or yellowed- but a sickly blue with black spots. The air was already thick with the cooling burns from behind them, but it amplified in the fetid excrement and foulness here. Jester gags. </p><p>Caleb is first to step on through, the prisoner not even stirring. He approaches the windowless door and listens. Nothing. </p><p>He gives the all clear and brings a second globe to the room, angling it in a way to not shine too much light on the man on the floor. His legs are bone-thin and ribs on full display. Yasha’s nostrils flare and she looks to the chains. The urge to break them is too much- a slick hand reaches out to touch hers.</p><p>“You <em> cannot </em> save them all,” he reiterates. The look they share is long, and severe. Shadows dance over his face, not a single hair framing it to soften that piercing look. She searches his eyes for a long moment, and then nods. Caleb returns to the door and Jester now beside it. She hears a slight jingle of tools.  A gleaming bloody handprint is left on her bracer. </p><p>“Tch,<em> Cay-leb</em>, let me fix that hand-” there’s a soft pink glow, and a grunt of gratitude. “There, now you can work.”</p><p>Kneeling, Yasha regards the poor man. He is a tiefling, aged and withered. Deep red or pink skin, she can’t tell. Horns had been long mutilated or sawn off unevenly. His hair has mostly fallen out, vague white strands limply holding on to his scabbed scalp. Similar sore spots and blisters decorate his torso, arms, thighs-  this corner reeks of urine and other putrid scents. She wouldn’t wish this on her own enemies- </p><p>Well. </p><p>Maybe one. </p><p>Jester comes beside her, while Caleb still fiddles at the door. Her face is sad and hurt as she observes the man before her. She reaches to brush a hair back from his face- Yasha grabs her wrist quickly. </p><p>“Don’t- <em> look</em>.” She indicates to boils lining his underarm and down his chest. Jester recoils immediately, Yasha releasing her. </p><p>“I hate it, Yasha. I hate this place<em> so much. </em>” She looks at their friend by the door. Yasha keeps her eyes fixed on the chains holding his atrophied arms aloft, weak and ragdolled. </p><p>“Me too, Jester. Me too.” </p><p>They hear a successful click of a picked lock. “I didn’t know you could do that, Cay-leb,” Jester whispers, standing again to join him. </p><p>“I was a vagabond and thief for a few years. I picked up some skills. Not as good as Nott, but well enough.”</p><p>“You mean<em>'Veth’ </em>,” Jester presses, not taking any arguments, arms crossed. </p><p>“Veth.” he eventually replies, and then pulls the door open spilling in light. </p><p>It takes a few moments, but he gives the all-clear and steps out. Jester lingers with one last sad look to the man, and follows. Yasha waits a few moments, satisfied they’re out of sight as the lights vanish into nothing, and in the swarming dark, she slits the man’s throat. He gives one rattling gurgle and jerk, before slumping, the blood leaking weak, thin, and rank with infection. </p><p>Mercy and bondage had many forms, she had learned. She couldn’t save him, but she could free him. </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They turned left upon exiting, finding themselves in a row of similar doors lining both sides. This meant they were close. Hopefully. </p><p>They crept along quietly, hearing very faint bangs from afar, and creaks from around. There was, morbidly, more life here. Yasha heard faint moans, and whimpers one time they stopped, listening to retreating footsteps some corridors away. Two pairs of feet, she thinks. Not as heavy as others. Still armoured. General patrol maybe. </p><p>One cell had someone singing in nonsense rhyming, their words muffled by the wooden door separating them. Voice fell and rose in broken pitches, intermingled with insane giggling.</p><p>They took three turns, having to double back once on themselves when reaching a dead-end with some colourful swearing, and all-in-all it was a stressful few minutes. </p><p>Yasha kept the rear, ready to pounce and defend, while Caleb scouted ahead, dropping his body low to a lithe crouch and long legs taking carefully placed steps. </p><p>Their luck held for a small while as they navigated to Caleb’s personal compass- until it didn’t. </p><p>Jester trips and catches herself on a broken stone slab, her axe clattering and echoing from its holding. It was a tense moment of silence before three separate cells around them started banging and screaming and howling. </p><p>Terrified, she jumps up with Yasha’s help and Caleb is scrambling, looking around. He picks a quiet door two down from them and <em> waits</em>. The pounding of the sound of company incoming starts from behind them- getting closer. </p><p>He waits, and <em> waits- </em> and at a particularly shrill screech his hands flash arcane and a loud bang is heard, like hammer on anvil. It reverberates through Yasha’s feet and up to her teeth, rattling them and she clenches. He pushes the door open, herding them inside rapidly. His hands scramble at his pouch, pulling out a tuft of fleece and then there’s a visage of goblin-Nott running out and away down the corridor where they’d been headed. He closes the door mostly over just as several pairs of thundering steps enter the row. There’s banging and yelling from guards as they pound on the screaming cells, with cries of <em> shut up in there! </em> And one door creaking opening after a jingle of keys. The sound of beaten skin and a silenced prisoner hints at violent methods. </p><p>Then they notice the illusion. Three seem to give chase and Caleb whispers instructions before closing the door fully, enveloping them in darkness. </p><p>Yasha takes a moment to adjust, but soon she’s seeing the outline of a rickety cot- and a figure huddled tightly in the corner. And it's whimpering. </p><p>“Oh!” Jester cries, backing up away from them towards the door. That catches Caleb’s attention.</p><p>He strides over, pushing past Yasha and Jester before they can react and fumbles to put one hand around the figure's mouth. </p><p>“Shh- <em> bitte- </em> ” he takes a deep breath. “No- it <em> can’t </em>be- scheiße! Does anyone have light? I cannot drop the illusion yet,” he whispers urgently, frantically. </p><p>Yasha holds her hand forth, concentrates, and then there’s a soft, white glow blanketing them. Yasha situates herself to bar the door, holding her hand outwards. </p><p>The figure in the corner cowes and scurries further back from the light, masses of unkempt hair covering their face. It’s white hair- or could be beneath the grime and filth. It’s a tangled <em> mess </em>and Yasha aches to comb it all out. </p><p>The whimpering is wet- as though sounding through rivers of saliva. There’s babbling too beneath it all. She’d seen such symptoms in elders from her village, but not to such a severe degree. </p><p>Caleb blocks most of the view as he slowly- carefully- sits on the edge of the ‘bed’. Yasha jams one foot along the bottom and keeping an ear out as more movement echoes beyond. Jester watches the exchange in silence, still in her corner though less startled. </p><p>It’s a woman, she sees. Like the man in the previous cell she is emaciated and filthy. Older, or at least aged, she wears a smock that was probably a bag or sack at one point, and it’s practically solid while she moves. She imagines it’s stained and soiled. Two boney knees peek out from underneath. Yasha thinks she hears little scurry movements from the bed ‘mattress’. </p><p>Starved and traumatised, she flinches from Caleb’s slowly lifting hand. </p><p>One of the cell doors further along the corridor bangs shut, the screaming and whimpering calming down with each yelled threat. </p><p>Caleb is muttering, and it sounds Zemnian- soft, soothing tones as though trying to calm a wild beast with hands outstretched. ‘It’s okay, it’s safe, you’re safe’ she imagines he’s saying.</p><p>It starts to work, and just in time as two guards veer closer to their cell. She dims the light a fraction- but the woman starts up again at its loss. They all jump when a fist hammers on their door, and cutting words and threats sound through. Yasha risks lighting up a little more and the woman calms her stutters. The poor creature keeps her wide, sunken eyes on the door though, while chewing on her hair nervously. </p><p>It comes off in a straw-like clump. She keeps chewing unaware.</p><p>Yasha pushes her thigh along the door too, ready to brace in case they attempt to open it… but it seems her calming was enough, and the guards move on. </p><p>Jester gasps and Yasha follows her eye line with a squint. The woman is now looking at Caleb intently. Studying him, her cloudy gaze gaining a little focus. But that’s not what made Jester gasp. </p><p>The woman is reaching out from her corner, towards Caleb’s waiting arms. The woman’s own arms are bruised, bleeding, and broken. Blisters and boils pepper her paper-thin, sagging skin and every movement seems to hurt her with habitual wincing. As with the rest of this prison block, urine taints the air. There’s a bucket in the corner and the wafting smell lets Yasha know its contents. Wiry fingers cling and clutch at a holey, ragged blanket that’s thinner than the woman’s hair as she peers closer at Caleb. No wonder she shivers so. </p><p>“Oh <em> mein freund</em>,” Caleb mutters, almost brokenly, choked. "I am so sorry. So, <em>so</em> sorry." He knows her then? From before? Yasha only picked up on those words because they were familiar to her from the man. </p><p>He fumbles around in his tunic, and brings something small that glints for a moment, though she can’t see what. It seems to captivate the woman’s attention, and she looks down between them fascinated. He gives it to her, whatever it is. Her babble becomes, happier, somehow. Lighter.</p><p>Echoes of boots draw closer again. And voices too near for comfort. Yasha leans in with a focused frown to listen. </p><p>Caleb is soothing the woman, keeping her calm, and he manages to draw her forward to him. She shuffles close, and there's clink-clink of shifting chains. Yasha bites the inside of her cheek. </p><p>The voices outside are out of breath, reporting something- someone? They lost someone. The goblin girl. Good, the distraction worked and they were none the wiser to anyone else. Yet.</p><p>The woman hesitantly- shakily- falls into his arms, and he holds her fast close to his chest. Her arms loop lazily over his shoulders. They were so, unnaturally <em>thin</em>. “Danke, mein freund. <em> Danke</em>. You've given me more than you could ever realise” He switches between languages, muttering similar it seems regardless. But the woman doesn't answer back. Just gurgles a little less stressed. "I wish I could do the same for you, truly."</p><p>There’s a sound of metal against skin and one of the guards seems to be struck- probably by their superior. Yasha bares her teeth. </p><p>A croon is then heard, and Yasha and Jester both turn to listen to Caleb humming some distant lullaby under his breath. It was unfamiliar to Yasha, but it was a soothing melody. They can't see his face, but it's not hard to imagine his eyes closed and at ease. The woman relaxes in his arms, and nestles her head on his shoulder, humming along disjointedly but content- and perhaps more importantly, <em>calm</em>. He bears her weight as though it were nothing. It probably was. Yasha looks away in modesty. </p><p>Orders are being barked, and Jester joins her at the door listening severely. She too wants to give the pair privacy despite the immediacy of the situation. It wasn’t hard to conclude that this was someone from Caleb’s past, but they couldn't leave yet anyway. Just what to do when they <em>did</em> have to leave her behind. This was a complication.</p><p>There’s a soft gasp, while the humming continues, but Yasha doesn’t see anything amiss upon looking. Caleb is stroking her hair kindly. It's probably the first humane contact she's had in years. Yasha suppresses a rage-filled scream at that particular thought, clenching her teeth tight and taking a malodorous deep inhale to steady herself. She <em>really</em> hates this place.  </p><p>A stamping of feet, like coming to attention, and the guards are splitting again. Two walk near to their cell door, the others deeper into the dungeon. That’s what this entire place was. A dungeon. Even the upstairs with its polished front was a trap. Like a swamp looking serene and pretty, until you step in it and are stuck and sinking into the murky waters, trapped for any and all predators lurking-</p><p>That’s when she hears the dripping. Plop. It was steady, like a stream. Plop. In a place such as this, she might have thought there to be many leaks and damp cracks in the walls, but so far it had been still, and silent, and <em>off</em>. Plop. And yet she now heard dripping. </p><p>A tang cuts through the stench- plop- almost metallic, coppery like- plop.</p><p>Blood pools steadily on the floor by Caleb’s feet. It’s pouring in a long, wet line off the fingertips of the limp, frail arm now hanging by the mystery woman’s side. A tarnished symbol -a four pointed star with two opposing crescent moons- now dangles from that slender wrist. It twists and turns slightly as the cord settles from the motion. The blood trail dribbles off the bottom point, and Yasha's eyes follow the dark river up her hand, her arm, her shoulder- It's a steady stream. Plop. Plop. Plop. </p><p>Caleb still hums his lullaby, stroking her nest of hair tenderly. His other hand comes away from her neck and in Yasha’s faint, holy light, a long, sharp stilletto dagger flashes crimson. </p><p>Another chain mercifully broken.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>:(</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. A Mettle Tested</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jester’s hands tremble as they clutch her holy symbol tight. Well, not <em> holy </em> - but her precious token nevertheless. Her bodice feels too rigid, like it's crushing her ribs, but that’s probably the increasingly shallow breaths she’s taking as she holds her cheek up against the scratchy door. The small group out there had split - she <em> thinks </em>- but there was still a couple or more going up and down this particular corridor. Her palms ache a little more where she squeezes. </p><p>This was <em> crazy</em>! And now they were split up from the rest of the group! That <em> wasn’t </em> in the plan at <em> all</em>. She needed these guards to <em> go </em> so she could send a message. Come <em> on</em>. </p><p>The person beside her shifts. With Jester having her right side pressed firmly against the cell door, Yasha faced her with her left side holding firm. The door might as well be locked with them both bracing it. She looks to give Yasha a reassuring smile, grateful for her small token of light- but Yasha isn’t looking her way, or at the door. </p><p>She’s fixated on the bed. </p><p>There’s something ill-boding in her pale face, something that the steady parcel of light doesn’t hide with flickering shadows like a torch would. No, Yasha's light is steady and unwavering. Like her. Yasha usually comes across as stern, or severe, or scary, but Jester <em> knows </em> her better than that. She’s quiet, and listening, and thoughtful. But that wasn’t what her expression betrayed just now. It was the sad eyes made even sadder. It was the upturning of her eyebrows, and the pinched, downturn of her mouth. That wasn’t a happy Yasha look <em> at all</em>. It was somber recognition and- and <em> grief</em>. </p><p>Butterflies start flying in her stomach, a warning wind. </p><p>She <em> almost </em> resists, <em> almost </em>doesn’t do it, but she is helpless to rebel as her head treacherously follows her dear friend’s eyeline. </p><p>Caleb still holds the poor, <em> poor </em> woman in his arms. She was such an awfully <em> hurt </em>lady, with those nasty, sickly boils and blisters and sores marking her thin skin. Jester was sure she only saw a fraction of the damage inflicted on that frail body. It breaks her heart. She clutches the symbol close to her chest as though to ask for help in keeping it intact lest she burst with sorrow.</p><p>It was hard enough not being able to comfort the chained man before, or having to walk by the cells with unseen faces whimpering, or crying, or screaming. One cell, near their dead-end, had someone whose chains were rattling frantically, while the captive moaned, and yelped, begging for freedom, forgiveness… <em> death</em>. It was nonsensical and repetitive, so faint with a voice so broken and hoarse. And Jester’s heart <em>shattered</em> a little more with every uttered whine and wretched plea. </p><p>It had taken a calm, firm hand on her shoulder from Yasha to gently pry Jester away from that particular door, ignoring the gathering tears in her eyes. Only a wooden barrier stood between her and helping them and she <em> couldn’t even </em> - no. That’s not true. She <em> could</em>. She <em>had</em> a choice. She could have bashed it down, healed them, freed them. Any of them. All of them. But she <em> had </em> to choose, right then and there. There was only - they were <em> here </em>for- </p><p>She <b> <em>hates </em> </b>it here. </p><p>Hate isn’t a feeling Jester likes to hold. More than that, she rarely experiences it so… so <em> fully </em> and thoroughly. She doesn’t <em> like </em> negative feelings, but she’s recently beginning to learn that it’s okay to have them. And also to deal with them- and <em>how</em>. But she can’t <em> do </em> that here. She doesn’t have <em>time</em> to stop and think and deliberate. Or <em> act</em>.</p><p>She thought this mission was going to be hard, yes, of that she had no doubt. But now she found herself in a place having to make such awful choices and decisions, to deliberately and wilfully ignore such suffering...To <em> judge </em>who was worthy of her time and power when she could give it to <em>anyone</em> here-</p><p>She felt utterly monstrous turning her back on those whimpers and allowing herself to be led away. </p><p>She couldn’t blame Yasha for that at all, or Caleb who had passed these cells without so much as a second glance. She - she <em> understands </em> a little now why he was acting how he was. It was armour- a defence, scary as it was. He came in here <em> knowing </em> what to expect, <em> knowing </em>what he’d face. She’d really had no idea, and she felt a state already. </p><p>Caleb had told them of some awful, terrible things that they did here, that he might have <em>done</em> here. And experienced. But it seemed he either held back on the details or some of this was new. Or he didn't remember it all, it was so awful. And the only reason he was able to walk by each cell door without flinching was because he’d readied for it anyway, mind set on one singular goal. </p><p>His warpath had been bloodied now, no longer just a wreck of erratic behaviour, but now paved with murder. They’d killed before, when necessary. It wasn’t something she ever enjoyed doing at all. But the way he’d forced a fire bolt down that guard’s throat without so much as a thought- she shudders to think what he <em>looked</em> like doing it. She only saw the violent, gory aftermath.</p><p>She was glad Caleb was comforting this woman now though. It meant he wasn’t<em> gone- </em> gone. This was the kind, caring Caleb she knew. The comforting, and reassuring, albeit slightly unsteady and unsure, Caleb of old. This was their no-longer-stinky wizard. His physical affection was rare, but when it was given, it was given wholly. <em> That </em>she knew. </p><p>Though, he <em> was </em> touching her which Yasha said not to do to the <em> other </em>afflicted prisoner. Perhaps the other man had boils that burst or something, and Yasha was just being cautious. Jester hadn’t gotten a close look at them before, nor could she really see them on the woman now save for faint dark outlines against her pallid skin. She was silent now, head fully nestled into Caleb’s neck and shoulder. Somewhat like how Mama would hold her when Jester was really upset, rocking her back and forth with a kind hand soothing her hair and gentle voice singing sweet songs only for her. </p><p>Jester misses those cuddles<em> so much. </em> She deeply aches in her chest just watching Caleb do the same, perched on a filthy mattress in a dark, tomb-like cell. His voice is low, the words sung so quietly she can’t really make them out. She thinks it’s Zemnian though, what little she does catch. It’s working, whatever it is, Jester thinks with a small smile. The woman is relaxed, and now maybe sleeping. This was nice, the tortured woman probably hasn’t had so much as a hug or kiss or someone holding her hand in a long time. Whatever fond expression was resting on her face sharply fell. </p><p>Oh <em>Traveler</em>, how was she supposed to <em> leave </em> her here? How was she going to be able to walk away from the cell, and lock the door behind her <em> knowing </em>that this brutalised woman still remained behind to succumb to more horrors and atrocities?</p><p>She wonders if it was similar thoughts that plagued Yasha. Or if it was the state of the woman that disturbed her so. The boils and blisters aren’t as developed that Jester can see in this light as the man before, but they’re there, and painful. Her fingers twitch at her symbol, desperate to reach out. But she has to suppress these instincts. She <em> has </em>to. And then, like a vicious, twisted cycle, Jester feels lost and useless all over again. </p><p><em> “You can’t save them all,” </em> he had said to them. </p><p>She didn’t <em> think </em> ...she didn’t <em> know </em> it was going to be this hard to walk by. But- … but they came here for <em>Essek</em>. What if- oh no. What if he was in a similar cell like this, or maybe a worse one? All alone in the dark for so long. The one she had seen in her scries was a little smaller than this one, maybe, and he didn’t <em> have </em> a bed. Just a worthless spread of straw or something. What if she really hadn’t seen how bad it was and they took so long to get here and he’d already been missing for a while before that! Oh man, <em> oh man.  </em></p><p>The symbol in her grip warms up a little. Just a <em> fragment</em>. Just enough to be noticeable. She strokes it gently with her thumb, appreciating the reach-out, the reminder that she <em> isn’t </em> alone in these feelings and situations. They would <em> all </em>be struggling with the same moral difficulties, of that she was sure. She couldn’t let herself get overcome and devoured by the evil covering this place. </p><p>No. She had a job to do. They all did. They would get Essek out, and she was <em> determined </em> that at some other point they would come marching back in here and tear the entire fucking place down to the ground, <em> Empire or Assembly be damned. </em> This place was awful, and <em> cruel </em> , and <b> <em>horrible-</em> </b></p><p>That’s when she smells it. It's familiar - iron-y almost. Rusty. <em>Warm</em>. She tastes her tongue and teeth with two tuts. The air is already thick with revolting smells - and her anger swells again at the grievous disrespect done to this poor woman- to <em> all </em>these unfortunate souls- when the unmistakable zest of blood bites seeps into her lungs. She looks around in the dim light, nose turned up, but cannot see anything or anyone hurt-?</p><p>Yasha is still staring - oh, but she’s staring <em> down</em>. At the <em> floor- </em></p><p>And there it is. </p><p> </p><p>Drip.</p><p>Drip. </p><p> </p><p>Drip. </p><p>
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</p><p>Drip. </p><p>
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</p><p>Drip.</p><p>
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</p><p>Plop!</p><p>The puddle is slowly growing, almost encircling one of Caleb’s boots like an inky shadow and it's- where-<em> is he hurt</em>-? </p><p>N...no.</p><p>It’s.. <em>oh-</em></p><p>Oh my <em> god- </em></p><p>Her chest is already expanding against her stone bodice with the deep, choking inhale eyes glued unable to look away because its <em> her </em> it’s the gaunt figure of a woman slumped on the bed <em> she’s </em> bleeding <em> not him </em> and oh <em> god </em> she’s not <em> sleeping </em>she’s- </p><p>A hand clamps around her mouth before any sound can escape and the world is blurring like water her body pushing hard into the door arms reaching to clutch at it at anything at <em> something </em>fingernails scratching at stone and brick but she can’t get <em> away </em> any further and the tears are forming and spilling now but the hand is <em> pressing </em> and it’s <em> green- </em></p><p>And then Yasha is there folding her in close shielding her from the sight and what the fuck what the <b> <em>fuck </em> </b> she can’t <em> breathe </em> let her breathe <em> I need to breathe- </em>!!!</p><p>.</p><p>....</p><p>.......</p><p>..........</p><p>She comes to with the sound of thump-thump-thump on her cheek and there’s a pound-pound-pound from somewhere else away from her and it’s so <em> dark </em> urgh why- who- she’s held secure wait no - she wriggles and the bondage around her loosens she pushes <em> away </em> in fear and there’s two mismatched eyes looking at her with deep concern oh it’s <em> Yasha </em>-</p><p>And then she remembers. </p><p>Her head whips around (a mistake she regrets with immediate vertigo) to the bed still illuminated by one single glow, though it’s darker until Yasha removes her arms from around Jester and holds it out again.</p><p>Caleb is standing, and lowering the woman back down with such <em> care</em>. Jester digs two hands tight onto Yasha’s biceps as she watches, <em> horrified, </em> remembering, recalling, re-<em>seeing</em>- </p><p>He’s careful not to step in the blood at his feet, standing astride it as though it were just a typical puddle. He is particular, and methodical in arranging her body. Her <em> corpse- </em> oh god she might throw up. Her legs are out straight- or as straight as they can be they’re so mangled and bony- the head lolls loosely to one side jaw slack saliva <em> dripping </em>from cracked bruised mouth shining in the small light-</p><p>He arranges her shift, or sack, or whatever they deigned to call that barren piece of cloth, in an effort to preserve any modesty. He takes up the bleeding arm, and then the other, and sets them across her midriff reverently. He fiddles with something metal, arranging it to hang between her hands. It’s a four-pointed star, with two opposing crescent moons in the middle. She thinks it might be the Archeart icon....? She can’t remember from an old book she read years and years ago because Caleb just <em> killed </em>her-</p><p>Lastly, he gives the old woman a long, blank look. With his hair fully tied back and nothing falling in to his face, even turned away she can see some of his expression. It’s empty, unseeing, unresponsive. A long, unmarred hand reaches out and he brushes back wisps of her hair along her temple. It’s so tender and gentle a motion. Affectionate, familiar almost. So who and<em> why- </em>?</p><p>He lifts a long, pointed knife, almost like a foot-long thick needle, from the bed, wipes it along the mattress before he sheathes it under his sleeve. Oh <em> god </em> that’s what he used? Into her <em> neck- </em>? Jester gags on bile and chokes to muffle it into her shoulder as it dribbles out treacherously. </p><p>He looks to the both of them, almost surprised they were there. </p><p>The look the three of them share isn’t cold, it’s not accusing or distrustful. But it is deeply troubled, or at least Jester’s is. One hand rubs comfortingly along her back, and Jester isn’t sure if it’s pale white or green. </p><hr/><p>They have to wait a few more minutes in agonising silence as the patrol up this corridor loosens up and spreads. It’s during this time that Jester feels the helpful cloak of the Traveler fade, and she knows they’ll have a harder time sneaking around here undetected. </p><p>She wants to tell them as much, but words fail her at the moment. </p><p>No longer did she stand in Yasha’s arms, but pressed into the far corner across from the - across from the <em> bed</em>. It was as far as she could get. A dead body didn’t - it wasn’t that she was bothered by that. It was how. It was <em> him</em>.</p><p>She was struggling to deal with it, this - this “merciful” kill. Surely there- surely there was <em> something </em>they could have done or maybe she could have healed her - but then what if one of her friends needs healing later and she already expended that magic or what if Essek was so badly hurt-</p><p>A new cloak settles over her and its name is Despair. </p><p>That … that really was the best escape for that poor woman, huh. </p><p>Jester’s throat burns with reflux again as her stomach churns, the butterflies whipping up a frenzy. A fresh wave of dizziness befalls her. One blue hand presses tightly to her face, trying to contain anything that would attempt to come out- vomit, questions, cries, shouts, curses, spells- <em> everything</em>. </p><p>Yasha gets their attention with a wave of her lit hand, and then extinguishes it. She pulls the door open a little, and Jester peeks round. She can’t really see anything for Yasha’s large form -  but then Yasha is yanking the door wide and pulling something - <em> someone </em>- in and there’s darkness pouring in as the cell is closed off once more. Yasha is wrestling this figure on the ground and Jester’s eyes take a moment to adjust but by the time they do- the figure has stopped fighting back. </p><p>The heart in her chest beats so loudly she fears it will alert everyone. </p><p>Caleb steps over them to listen at the door and after a moment he peers out. It seems to be clear and he opens it wide, flooding light in once more. </p><p>The guard isn’t dead, and Jester feels a horrible wave of hypocrisy at herself when she realises that isn’t <em> fair </em>that this one lives and the poor woman lay dead- </p><p>But then Caleb is quietly asking Yasha aside and studying the guard. After a few seconds he straightens and starts weaving his hands. A shimmer folds across them and in a moment she’s looking at two Crownsguard footmen. Viewing downwards, she sees that her own appearance is also altered to the same colours and tabards. </p><p>Yasha and Caleb have widely different features from themselves into some sort of common, nondescript humans, and the only distinction is their height. </p><p>Caleb picks up the fallen shortsword and dagger, and exits the cell without looking back. </p><p>Yasha hesitates, and looks to the melancholy cot. Reaching through her illusion she produces forth a single bead that had been woven into her hair. She sets it onto the woman’s own, before exiting the bricked cage. </p><p>Jester - Jester apologises. Slowly, mournfully. That she couldn’t help her, that she was imprisoned here in the first place. For all and everything she had suffered alone up to the point of madness and infirmity of the mind. Perhaps that was a sick, twisted blessing in the end -her broken mentality. Perhaps it dulled a lot of what she underwent. But the thought of <em>reaching</em> such a breaking point-</p><p>Jester can only apologise that death was her only escape. </p><p>She leaves the cell, and closes the door, feeling like she’s leaving the woman to rot in the worst tomb imaginable.  Jester’s pretty sure that if this particular grave were to be dug up in a thousand-thousand years, a piece of her agonised heart would be found right next to the poor, unknown ghost. </p><hr/><p>It takes some nudges from Yasha, and stern whispers from Caleb, but Jester manages to hold herself upright and look like a guard. Her sleeve was now wet with sniffles and snot, but there was little time to waste. Essek needed her. Needed <em> them</em>. So behind her two friends, she marched. </p><p>Jester had said she was going to message the others- but Caleb cut across her and said to wait until they found Essek. It was a bit of a back and forth, but eventually, <em> reluctantly</em>, Jester withheld. Perhaps saving spells right now was for the best of ideas, and Beau didn’t sound distressed when last messaged-</p><p>Not that that settles the whirling hurricane of butterflies inhabiting her stomach now. </p><p>Caleb is marching expertly along these labyrinthine halls, and Jester can only follow. He knows where they’ve been, where they’re going, and she has to trust him. Though, it’s a shaken trust. Perhaps she trusts his warpath-riddled desire to save Essek more than him right now. That’s probably more accurate. </p><p>Her feet pound-pound rhythmically, copying the man leading as best she can, while Yasha attempts a semi-awkward step-in-time alongside her. Any other time she may have found this funny. </p><p>Any other time. </p><p>Caleb seems to be picking up speed, were they close? He turns a corner, this hallway more barren than the rest, fewer doors. Fewer wails. She’s struggling to keep up with his strides and then-</p><p>“Halt!” </p><p>They <em> freeze </em> and Yasha is already reaching slowly behind her, but a waved hand at Caleb’s back stills them. She digs deep into herself to not panic. To not react. Be a guard. <em>Be a guard.</em> Come on Jester.</p><p>Two figures approach from further ahead. </p><p>Jester curls a hand very subtly around her axe, ready to pull it forth. </p><p>The figures are Crownsguard also, though the one in front (with a puffy white moustache, almost like a bristle brush) has more decorations on hiim than the one lurking behind him. A teenager by the looks of it, she looks bored to even be here. </p><p>Jester doesn’t know if she’s repulsed or sad for the girl when she doesn’t even flinch at a striking scream echoing from a few corridors away. Given the lack of reaction from them both, that was a common enough sound in these dungeons. </p><p>The hand behind Caleb’s back dips into his illusion a little, and when it comes free there’s a sheen of something amber across his thumb. </p><p>Caleb responds to the officer in Zemnian- though not with his usual tones. It’s formal; quick and responsive. Snapped and sharp. There’s a harsh lilt to it. Like he was trained to do so. </p><p>Jester has been listening to a variety of cadences and voice musicality all her life from Mama. She knows when her Mother is trying to entice, when she’s trying to lure and seduce. She knows the difference between sorrowful, lamenting tones, and soft, fond remembering ones. Jester knows when a song is coming from somewhere beyond rehearsed and into authentic. She can tell, even in another language, that Caleb is saying what he needs to in the tone necessary to get them out. It just sounds <em>too</em> practiced. Or not practiced at all.  </p><p>She’s seen Caleb pull this out before on a rare handful of occasions - putting on airs and quickly stepping into roles otherwise odd to see him in. But this… this didn’t feel like that. This wasn’t - this didn’t <em> feel </em>like an act this time. Not when he didn’t even shift his body language to accommodate. This felt too natural, too responsive. Well, whatever it was, it’s what he was using. </p><p>She hopes it’s enough. </p><p>The officers barks something, looking over them briefly, but he doesn't appear suspicious. She doesn’t <em> think </em>anyway. Caleb’s Seeming spell seems to hold up to scrutiny as the officer’s eyes just wash over them, not noticing any discrepancies. All of her energy pours into looking casual- but not too casual, you know, just enough to pass off as a soldier all straight-backed and head up and hands at the side-</p><p><em> Caleb’s </em> hand goes to his face as he looks down in contemplation to something he was asked. He responds questioningly, waving the hand to the side in a suggestive manner and a glazed look befalls the officer. Oh, it’s one of <em> those </em>spells. </p><p>She thinks it takes, because Bristle-tache is nodding, and agreeing with Caleb, then yapping at them again before stomping off past them and out of sight. The young guard looks bewildered, then back at Caleb and the rest of them briefly, before a yell is called and she’s hurrying to catch up to her superior. </p><p>Caleb spares a brief glance over his shoulder, and the gaze of the mask he wore was cold and set. She was right. He didn't even shirk off the soldier personality as soon as he could. His shoulders still stayed straight and taut. “I suggested we stand guard over any high-value prisoners since there was a suspected incursion. He kindly suggested the <em> crick filth </em> this way.” His mouth twists into a mockery of a smile before dropping altogether. Jester gasps at the obscenity before scrambling to follow as Caleb starts striding, Yasha steadily following in his wake. </p><p>
  <em> Hold on Essek, we’re coming.  </em>
</p><hr/><p>The corner they finally turn leads to a short dead - end. There are two doors - one on either side - and there, right at the terminus, was supposedly Essek’s door. </p><p><em> The angle looks right</em>, she thinks as they carefully walk down and looking over her shoulder. She had a brief glimpse of the hall in her first scry and the door opened, and what little details she picked out in that moment were lining up. </p><p>Her heart is pounding, sweat beading on her forehead. They were so <em> close </em>and now things were on high alert- </p><p>She topples as something <em> sharp </em>impacts her shoulder and a whizz flies by her head, clanging off stone. In seconds there’s someone leaping on her back, pushing her forcefully to the ground holding her face-down, there's a knee at her spine, and her arm is twisted up her back-</p><p>There’s other commotion and she can hear Caleb cry out, and Yasha grunt, and Fjord is whispering hurriedly to-</p><p>Wait, <em>Fjord</em>?</p><p>“G-guys! It’s- it’s <em> us</em>!” she chokes out. “It’s J- It’s Jes-<em>ter</em>!” Her arm is immediately released and she feels the pulsing throb of the arrow embedded deep into her shoulder more keenly. </p><p>“Oh fuck! <em> Jester</em>? I’m so- I’m <em> so </em> sorry! We thought you were-! Ah <em> fuck</em>! Here let me-” and then there’s arms turning her and helping her to her feet and Beau is righting her with a wince.</p><p>“<em>Owww</em>,” she keens, holding her elbow steady. Oh man, that second arrow could have some <em> serious </em>damage! She looks up from her wince to see Caduceus round the corner curiously. </p><p>“Ah, that makes sense,” he supplies, looking over the group. Caleb is in some sort of battle stance, illusioned arm calming a formed fire as he relaxes a little. Only a little. It sputters out with a spark.</p><p>“Glad you’re okay,” Yasha comments to their friends, her bleak human features a man for this spell and her greatsword lowering to the ground. It’s a bizarre overlap for the senses. </p><p>“Likewise,” Fjord puffs, staying his own blade. He’s got dried blood on his cheeks and nose from gashes no longer there. “Good call with the disguises,” he points at them weakly, a little out of breath. “Wish we’d thought of that.”</p><p>Jester responds, “are you guys okay? Did you get hurt? How did you get away-?”</p><p>“Funny story actually-” Veth starts, setting her crossbow aside with an apologetic grimace. She goes to continue but is interrupted by an unsubtle clinking of tools as Caleb has already made his way to the cell door. </p><p>Caduceus heals Jester’s shoulder with a warm hand and warmer smile and gives Veth back her bolt. Jester gives him a one-armed hug around the waist, squeezing extra tight and staying there. Just for a moment. He rubs her shoulder in understanding. She probably smells like death, and he knows that perfume all too well.</p><p>There’s Zemnian swearing and the tools break. “Nott! Over here, <em> now</em>!” he steps back to make room not even waiting for an answer. Veth doesn’t say anything and jogs over, fiddling for her own tools. </p><p>“You didn’t check for traps,” she comments quietly, bending low to peer around the frame and keyhole. </p><p>“No time. Been too long,” is the sharp retort. Caduceus’ hand on her shoulder tightens just a fraction. She wordlessly reciprocates her worry at his waist. </p><p>“Clerics should be first to go in,” he turns to view them. Wow. He really could just slot right in here with that demanding, Empire tone. Coupled with the guise, she’d have a hard time telling it was Caleb if she didn’t already know. </p><p>Yasha and Fjord have taken up sentinel at the back, facing down the corridor. Beau hangs by Jester and Caduceus, no longer invisible, listening at the other cells for any sign of life after the ruckus. She gives a silent thumbs up in all-clear. </p><p>“He’ll probably need healing,” Caleb continues. “We don’t want to overcrowd him, stay out here.<em> Keep an eye out</em>.” His tone demanded no argument, and none was given. Caduceus was even nodding. He ushers Jester forward gently as Veth works tirelessly on the lock. </p><p>The seconds tick by as she does, and Jester feels every single one of them. Even with her wound mostly healed, her body still thrums with adrenaline and the pound-pound-pound of her heart is amplified in her shoulder. </p><p>Veth fails in her lock pick. </p><p>The tools are thrown aside in disgust and she actually pounds one meaty fist on the door in her frustration. “God<em>-dammit! </em>He's right there! And I can't even- No! <em>Fuck this!</em>” She’s fiddling at her waist and from where her belt may have secured a flask, a vial of acid was drawn forth instead. “Back up, you lot. This is gonna sizzle!”</p><p>And sizzle it does. Pouring it onto a vertical surface appears to be a tricky situation, but Veth manages it. She tilts it high above the lock so it falls and drips down in a long, lethal line. When it reaches the mechanism, the cooking turns into a sputter that folds the metal inwards and on itself. Jester looks away- partly to hide from the smell of burning iron, but also because the sinking and peeling of the lock was too close an image to that of the burnt-alive guard.</p><p>The acid works its way until the vial is fully-emptied, some splattering dangerously on the stone at Veth’s feet. She dodges it deftly, and holds the glass steady until every last drop is spent. </p><p>Caleb goes to move in, but Veth holds up her hand with a hiss. “<em>Wait</em>! Let it cool-”</p><p>“We don’t <em>have time</em>-!”</p><p>“You do unless you want to lose body parts. <em>Step back</em>, Caleb.”</p><p>That strife is warring across his face again and once more the rest of the Mighty Nein are on alert watching him. But they don’t need to wait long. Veth had one hand in the air, a universal sign for ‘hold’ and 'wait', and on some alchemical signal, she brings it down and silently declares the deed done. They could get to him, they could get to <em> Essek</em>.</p><p>Something in that one motion shifts something in Jester. Like a lever being pulled, and the candles lighting up illuminating everything in one fell swoop. This night had been nothing but hardship, after hardship. It was a cruel place, run by crueler people. They had all come here to get their friend, and she’d experienced nothing but horror and distress in a single hour. </p><p>So how bad must it have been for <em> Essek</em>?</p><p>It was in that one arm drop from Veth, representing their moods, their hopes, their descent down, their despair-  that Jester saw <em> exactly </em> the urgency and severity of the danger Essek was in the longer he was in this perverted place. It was in that little gesture, that Jester truly understood exactly what <em>Caleb</em> had been experiencing for the last <em> two weeks. </em></p><p>Alone<em>.  </em></p><p>Alone because none of them had <em>truly</em> grasped from all of his broken and shattered memories what was really down here in this carnivorous dark. </p><p>It was silently eating away at them, like the acid that Veth had so carefully poured. It had marked and encroached on them, designating them 'prey'. Hunting and skulking around them days and <em>days</em>, unseen from afar, before they even <em>reached </em>the Sanatorium. It was all-consuming, hungry and <em>predatory</em>. It was patient. It could lie in wait for years, and <em>years</em>, ready to just pounce and devour when its victim was waning. She had seen it in the sad downturn of Yasha's eyes. Seen it in the anxious way Veth jumped at little noises. Beau was irritated and impatient, desperately trying to keep things normal when it was falling apart. Fjord was unsure and without confidence again. Caduceus' temper was flaring, he wasn't smiling through his terror any more.</p><p>A man lay in shackles and boils, more skeleton than alive. A woman now lay dead because it was that or leave her alone in that tar-drenched lightlessness to suffer indefinitely, eternally. It had already swallowed and claimed them, digesting and breaking them down into shades of their former selves, and yet <em>still</em> it kept chipping away, unsatisfied, leeching all it could. Caleb was already so deep in its maw that getting him back out was going to be another rescue mission of its own- already he was losing himself to old, buried habits and training. They had unknowingly let him get taken, the corrosion and rotting starting in that upstairs room in Xhorhas. </p><p>But here, in the jaws of it herself, with its teeth of anguish and torment gnashing and sinking into her very spirit, poisoning her mind with doubt and gloom, she decides '<em>no more'</em>. She decides to<em> fight back.  </em>She decides it all, after she's told to hold and wait. </p><p>Jester had done enough waiting. Enough standing around. Enough feeling sorry. And at Veth's signal, it all comes crashing in. The butterflies in her stomach become a hurricane of force- a tidal wave of justice and wrath ready to flood this entire estate.</p><p>She unhooks carefully from Caduceus and strides forward. She feels the throb of her shoulder. She smells the lingering scent of urine and blood and mercy on her clothes. She hears the distant screams of other quarry tormented. She touches the cuts on her palms where she held too tight to her symbol. She tastes the acrid substance in the air, caustic and erosive, as she approaches the last barrier.</p><p>
  <em> And she feels it all. </em>
</p><p>Wtih two deep inhales, Jester sets her stance. Lifting one determined boot, she thrusts at the door with every ounce of anger, <em> hate</em>, grief, and <em>fury</em> she’s been ignoring these last two weeks. They’d only <em> amplified </em> in the last hour tenfold and more. She was <em> pissed.</em> </p><p>The door groans in complaint as the strike lands true, square in the centre, and it bends a little in its frame.</p><p>She was <em> here</em>, in this <em>godforsaken </em> hallway, under these <em> wicked </em> grounds, run by <em>monstrous</em> people<em>- </em> to get her <em> friend </em> back and no <em> fucking </em> asylum prison <em> door </em> was going to get in her <em>way</em>!  Iron! Or! <em>Not</em>!</p><p>Chest heaving, gritted teeth bared, she plants her other foot firmly, and lifts again. <em>This</em> kick threatens the hinges as she gives an encore and assaults the centre.</p><p>The metal collapses in further and now there’s enough room to stick a hand through. <em>It’s still not enough!</em> </p><p>Once more she lifts her leg, her muscles <em>aching</em> and <em>burning</em> from impact, but she doesn’t <em>care</em> because Essek is right <em>there</em> behind this <em>fucking door</em>.</p><p>She feels the ground pushing up against her weight as she braces herself. The twirl of her skirts and coat waft around her like a storm with every movement, and her body leans back with all she has.</p><p>There’s a primal cry climbing in her throat ready to tear free and she lunges forward with <em>all</em> her strength letting it loose-</p><p>She is Jester <em> Fucking </em> Lavorre, First Follower of the Traveler, former pirate of Darktow, Little Sapphire of Nicodranas, friend of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, and member of the fucking <em>Mighty Nein. </em></p><p><b>And she was on a </b> <b> <em>mission.</em></b></p><p>The door caves completely after the third kick.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Interlude: Part I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The Interlude (that's right! we're about approximately halfway through for my planned outline! Who knows if this will stick to that or be more?! Who knows? Not this author!) grew to be a bit of a beast in drafting sooo I've decided to split it, and finalise Part Two for later in the week. </p><p>Here's our very own wizard of the hour!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Whenever you finish what you’re doing, just let me know. We can talk in a more... <em> safe </em>environment about the tangled web that all of these people built,” he gestures across the naval exhibition in front of them with a falsified hand. </p><p>“‘These people.’ Seems like you’ve spun a thread of two yourself, Essek.”</p><p>It hurts, hearing the recrimintation stated so plainly with such practised familiarity. His name, which he had come to covet wrapped in that accent, now held the tones of distancing, separation. Guardedness. </p><p>Essek had borne and bared his transgressions, fearing (<strike>hoping</strike>) for a swift end to follow. It never came. Instead came concern, worry, mistrust. </p><p>A kiss. </p><p>But the damage was done. The information was out there, his secrets revealed. And now he faced the consequences of those revelations- the aftermath. </p><p>In each of their eyes was hesitance, walls built hastily whenever he was around them now. They hadn’t been there in a long time. They all had barriers and guards upon arriving in the Lucid Bastion- how could they not? But he’d seem those walls come down brick by brick over time at different rates, until only he was allowed to pass through with the title of ‘friend’. </p><p>Here they were again, those isolating walls, except there was the element of accusation baked into the foundations.</p><p>Essek felt there was no worse punishment than this. He deserved it, he knew. He’d said as much. They hadn’t argued. He didn’t expect them to. He wanted them to. He didn’t need it. He secretly- no. This was better. This was correct, contemptible as it was. </p><p>Shame was not a mantle Essek liked wearing, it was ill-fitting and cumbersome. In his life, whenever it threatened to settle over him, he shirked it away with logic and disinterest, rising above it. But here, with his friends holding him fast to his misdeeds, he was unable to do that. So it submerged over him, disallowing him escape. </p><p>Over time it had become tighter, this mantle of shame, strangling his throat and constricting his words around his… <em> friends</em>. The closer they all became, the harder it was to open his mouth. Every word was a lie, or tainted with underlying intent.- as had been his initial goals. But this snowball had started rolling down the mountain and he couldn’t keep up to stop it. It was out of his hands now. Habitual and practiced, until the snowball ran its full destructive course or he tumbled and fell, the words and lies would spill and spill.</p><p>Except the genuine ones, rare as they were for him to give. Those were a parasol over the blinded eyes of his soul, a warm hand reaching out to his arm. A cupcake gifted, and gratitude given authentically were his stars in the sky, guiding him somewhere else- somewhere safe. Each spell-sent Message, every poorly-named proffered drink, each sing-song of his first name… every invite into their warm home was a step closer to a frightening new existence. </p><p>Shared looks with blue eyes of questioning, regarding, discovering… understanding. </p><p>Longing. </p><p>It was never supposed to evolve into that, or at <em> all. </em>He sidled up, sickly sweet with promises of spells, magic, and tutelage. He had expected simpering gratitude, sycophantism, bribery and other coercions- anything that would allow them advantageous use of access to the <em>Shadowhand</em>.</p><p>Instead he received reciprocation, enthusiasm, a like-minded peer, someone who challenged and exalted his intelligence with level fervour… </p><p>Widogast was someone who sent palpitations through his chest, who responded with matched intrigue. A wizard who never backed down from him, who yearned to <em> learn</em>, and <em> know</em>, just because it was a mystery. A man whose curiosity rivalled his own, whose zeal and dedication to new magic was as intense as his unspoken words.  Who freely gave credit to Essek, no questions asked, and even praised his participation as <em> equal.</em>  Who gave him lingering looks, and secret, knowing smiles. </p><p>Warmth.</p><p>Respect. </p><p>A friend. </p><p>(Something <em> more? </em>)</p><p>Caleb was a hesitant intake of breath- full of nerves, fear of rejection, fear of destruction, fear of acceptance, yet still readying to take the plunge anyway. Essek wanted to- and was scared to <em>admit</em> to himself that he wanted to. It was never supposed to be <em> this</em>, what it was between them. It was supposed to be a ruse, a <em> guise</em>, an enticement to get closer to them. </p><p>He didn’t expect… to fall for him too. <em>Him </em>with his vulnerable looks and multitudes of what-ifs and intelligent questions and passion for learning for the sake of learning. </p><p>No, he was never supposed to be that at all. And yet, Essek was the one ending up trapped in that blue gaze that was never wavering, always observing, always seeing. Always perceiving <em>him</em>. </p><p>Fully clothed and armoured in his mantle and magic, Essek never felt so exposed and vulnerable as whenever Caleb Widogast looked his way. </p><p>Essek hated it. It was a weakness. It was improper, it was a shortcoming and therefore disallowed. </p><p>Essek cherished it. He wasn’t the Shadowhand. He wasn’t the unconsecuted, first-life-only son of the Thelyss Den Umavi. He was <em> Essek</em>. He was <em> seen</em>. </p><p>He <em>wanted</em> to be seen by this man. </p><p>And that scared him more than any plot hatched with the Assembly ever did. </p><p>So now, standing on the deck of their crudely-named ship, Essek meets Caleb’s gaze and he doesn’t feel that expected disarming perception. He sees sadness, distance, and wariness. It’s not the same suspicion that first befell him upon their first meeting only a few months ago. No. It’s a sorrowful wariness, a doubting misgiving. A sad realisation. </p><p>Essek swallows. He’ll never have his - any of <em> their- </em>trust again. </p><p>He looks away. Beauregard interjects, and Essek finds her a preferable target to direct his growing internal animosity. He has a sick, bubbling roil inside of him for the earned abandonment he feels. </p><p>He doesn’t regret what he did, only that it’s now caused him to lose some of the newest, and possibly most freeing presences he’s ever had in his life. He’s angry that he got caught, that he feels horrid, for spilling it all, for entrusting them- pleading with them to not tell. He felt bare, on display, on trial, <em>judged</em> that night on the ship. He wanted to hate them (<strike>for them to hate him</strike>). It would be so much easier. </p><p>But when there was a hand cupping his face, the other on his knee, when there was a lingering warmth on his brow and a guard of finely-dressed adventurers standing sentinel around him and <em> listening… </em>Hate wasn’t what he could conjure for them. Not when they showed him nothing but kindness. But he could for himself. And he lashes it at Beauregard.<br/><br/>“I do not exclude <em> myself </em>from these statements.” His look is long, challenging, furious and vitriolic. Losing Caleb’s trust stung like a lash across his body, and shy of baring his teeth in the pain, he redirects it into a withering glare at the monk. </p><p>He is just as guilty. He knows it. He acknowledges it. </p><p>He hates it. </p><p>“Well, we have our peace so… happy days.” Caleb’s soft lilt breaks the silent confrontation, and Essek is helpless once more under his blue gaze, mistrust or no. What had he become, to be so easily swayed? </p><p>Utterly undone. </p><p>“Hmph,” his anger fades back to the deep pit inside him - where it belonged and will no doubt beget further ugliness. A sardonic smile twists on his face instead. “Happy days,” he repeats. </p><p>Essek hasn’t felt authentic happiness recently. He doubts he will ever again. The universe had teased him with the Mighty Nein, and like a fool he had squandered and gambled it all away before he even knew. He looks around the deck, to each one of them, lingering for a moment, recalling what it was like that one night when they were open, laughing and free, and filled with wine and food. </p><p>What he wouldn’t give to have that feeling back, just once more. Just … just for confirmation it was <em> real</em>, and what things might have been like in another time. </p><p>The sigh he takes is deep, filling his lungs with his wishes, dreams, hopes, and nameless prayers. For him. For them to forgive him. For Caleb to give a full, honest smile his way once more with a knowing twinkle in his eyes. Yes, Essek breaths it all in. </p><p>Then he expels it all and lets it dissipate on the sea air where he lets it go in melancholy acceptance. </p><p>They’ll never see him as trustworthy again. Those pipe dreams and flights of fancy are just that, and now they fly away on the ocean breezes where they belong- far away from him. </p><p>He teleports, alone, back to his tower. </p><hr/><p>The Mighty Nein had been to his estate exactly once. In less than two hours, the furniture had been rearranged, the lab used and almost upended in excited frenzy. Cracker crumbs lingered on the carpet, and the chairs remained where they were- Essek unwilling to return them to the pristinely organised setup it was before. </p><p>Ginger cat hairs decorated some unreachable shelves. A silver bead broken from a green dress was stuck between the cushions. A lingering smell of moss and nature perfumed the walkway to the kitchen. A faint palm print rests on the handle to his washroom. Similar was on other locked doors- signs of an inquisitive guest. </p><p>A chip of bone had been knocked off, similar in colour to a curious musical instrument. A pair of solid bootprints stood sunk into the carpet before his bookcases, their owner now captaining a ship leagues and leagues away. A single button lay popped off on the stairs going up to the laboratory, separated from its colourful companions.</p><p>On his desk, a discarded page of a shared spell was left haphazardly. It bears curled handwriting, now thoroughly studied and smudged where Essek’s own careful, elegant finger had traced the curve of each letter in fondness. </p><p>The Mighty Nein had only been to his estate exactly once. In less than two hours, the furniture had been rearranged, the lab used almost upended in excited frenzy. It had been only a three weeks prior, but the ghosts of his friends lingered, haunting him in his own home. Dark echoing memories ringing as a preview of really what could have been his happy-filled future. </p><p>His towers had never felt so empty and unfulfilled before their fleeting visit. </p><p>He traverses the pathways between these singular towers, feeling and noting each undisturbed discrepancy, each mess and nosey remnant they left in their wake. Truly a force to rival a hurricane - The Mighty Nein. He was loathe to tidy it up, for fear of him forgetting what it felt like, that morning. He chuckles a little, remembering his attempted joke at punishing the bakery. It had felt good to attempt humour in his own home. It was a new experience, even if the joke hadn't wholly landed. He- he had hoped to get more practice. To fill the tower with more furniture, and lights, and things they like. To match the Xhorhaus, he realises. </p><p>He wanted life in these walls. So long it had just been his sanctuary, safe and solitudinous. But now he knew what it sounded, and smelled, and felt like rife with laughter, and <em>fun</em>. </p><p>He wants that <em>back</em>.  </p><p>Essek thinks himself a fool for wishing so. He had only just dispelled his fleeting fancies for such a result to come about somehow. But then... Caleb had said that shouldn't stop him from trying. He could still find his better self, and make a difference. </p><p>But such change didn't occur overnight, and Essek was getting too familiar with edges- whether it be a cliff or a blade edge - he'd balanced precariously on both and it was a treacherous road. </p><p>So ... perhaps something small?</p><p>He thinks on Jester’s suggestion (plea) of cakes. He had said when all was said and done, he would consider it. And it would provide him an excuse to visit once more after he’s seen to some last business. It would show that he’s genuine in his willingness to change, to … to <em> do good things. </em> That he’s not up to anything nefarious. Yes, that could be a start, once he had wrapped up things here. </p><p>Like a compass to a pole, Essek quietly admits to himself just how drawn to them as a whole he is. Whichever way he turns, he wants to be guided back to the Mighty Nein, and to him. It’s humbling (and terrifying) just how quickly they dismantled him with a simple extension of friendship. And how easily he succumbed to it. </p><p>Unbidden, a faint smile touches his lips thinking how natural they looked on the deck of their ship as he came up to open air. They suited this lifestyle, and the evidence of their efforts was happening in an historical moment before them. Truly a magnificent group of people, until he remembers their apprehensive expressions upon his arrival. How their mood had shifted from nervous about the talks, to being guarded at him. They hadn't tossed him overboard, but neither had they really welcomed him with open arms like they once would have. He sees the dropped shoulders, the initial happy surprise that faded to apprehension upon remembering their last meeting. He thinks once upon a time he might have taken them up on the offer to stay overnight, when he would have been welcomed. But not this lifetime.</p><p>His mood sours in self-loathing once more, lost to pitiful, exhausted musings as he goes to seek rest. </p><p>But it is because of these musings, that Essek doesn’t notice that his bedroom door is unlocked. </p><p>It is because of these burdened musings, that in the comfort and security of his own home Essek doesn’t observe a rug corner disturbed, a curtain out of place.</p><p>It is because of these dark, spiralling, mournful musings, too distracted by the loss and grief winding around his bones and settling in for time indefinite, that Essek doesn’t see the movement out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>It is because of the thoughts of his friends, that Essek Thelyss, Shadowhand to the Bright Queen and Son of Den Umavi, disappears from Rosohna without trace in the dark of its perpetual night.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Interlude: Part II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Reader, I was <i>thisclose</i> to splitting this chapter a third time. You ever just accidentally write a fic-within-a-fic? ooft. </p><p>(also *guys* I am floored and HUMBLED by your reactions to last chapter especially. Y'all are fucking incredible and giving me <i>life</i> &lt;3 &lt;3)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h4>
  <em> It takes less than a nighttime to relocate the subdued Shadowhand. </em>
</h4><p>Essek wakes aching and bruised, on a hard floor with no light source to offer clarity to his situation. An involuntary shiver tremors through him and his senses awaken swiftly as it travels in a wave of pain. The aches crest and break over him, and a low groan escapes. He finds he cannot move. </p><p>His hands are numb behind his back, arm throbbing from where he’s been lying on it. It takes a dangerous turn of his head to the side to feel dizziness and vertigo threaten. A scratched moan leaves him as he rides the discomfort out, eyes squeezed shut. </p><p>He ungracefully rolls to a sitting position, letting his balance settle once more. His stomach churns- though that might be from the acrid smell. It’s musty, dry and thick. Essek has visited Asarius and smelled similar amid a passing dust storm. His eyes sting with grit. </p><p>It takes a few more moments than he cares for, but he manages to manoeuvre into kneeling, finding his bare feet manacled but not like his hands. A clink and chafe at his wrists informed him that similar manacles also restrained his arms. That’s doubled up with hewn rope bound so tight that his fingers barely respond. </p><p>He stands, swaying - head <em> pounding </em> - and cautiously starts to back up for a wall. It takes less than four steps to find it- as is the case in whichever direction he goes, except forward. There he’s met with iron, cold and unrelenting. A door most likely. Spinning around he feels along with cuffed hands and cannot locate a handle or keyhole. </p><p>There’s something else. As he turns something moves under his shirt and he stills, breath hitched. Now that his faculties are slowly returning, he becomes aware of a weight around his neck. It had made its presence known when he spun. Feeling down his nerves he locates the object holding warm against his sternum. He leans side-to-side. The item follows suit. Listening to his skin, he follows another foreign texture from this weight to up over his clavicles, and looping around his neck like a slender snake. He bends forward a little. He loses contact as the weight domes his loose shirt.</p><p>It’s some sort of <em> pendant</em>. Essek doesn’t habitually wear jewellery, so it’s not his. He feels no immediate side effects from wearing such a trinket, only aches and pains from rough handling and mistreatment. </p><p>Unless- </p><p>He tries another way out. </p><p>Over and over again he utters his incantation to teleport. Every time he opens his eyes he is met with that inky blackness instead of the expected (hoped) pearl white of the Bastion. </p><p>He tries for his own tower, stumbling over the words twice. </p><p>Failure. </p><p>The Conservatory Grounds, his chest is heaving with gulping breaths. </p><p>Failure. </p><p>The Xhorhaus, precious spit flies from his mouth as he repeats again and <em> again </em>.</p><p><em> Failure</em>. </p><p>The Balleater-  tears gather in his eyes-</p><p><b> <em>Failure</em></b>. </p><p>A cantrip! He’s beginning to lose sense of up and down.</p><p>No spectral hand appears to assist him.</p><p>Another spell- <em> anything- </em></p><p>The washed over feeling of a settled illusory disguise doesn’t happen. He paces and paces.</p><p>Frantically he presses a hand flat against the door, uncaring and bids it to unlock and open. </p><p>It doesn’t. </p><p>…….</p><p>He tries to float. </p><p>His bare feet remain steadfast on the cold, straw-ridden floor. </p><p>All right. Okay. All right that’s - this is- okay. Hmmm. Ohhh he feels <em> sick- </em>  Just J-just <em> breathe </em>- </p><p>He doubles over, not quite squatting, not quite kneeling. Just enough to stop his head from swimming. His arms protest at the unnatural angle, chest straining at the pull, but he needs to <em> think</em>.</p><p>Anti-magic wards. A setback, nothing more.That obviously makes sense. Of course they would- whoever ‘they’ are - want to inhibit him. He doesn’t know if the wards are built into the room itself, or the manacles <em> binding him </em>- Perhaps even the pendant noosing him. He’d guess the latter if he had to choose. Or maybe the manacles actually. Yes, that would explain the rope if his manacles were too large to fit securely but they still wanted them on him. Ideal for dampening his abilities and all that he was. </p><p>Oh gods. He-</p><p>He didn’t have <em> anything</em>. </p><p>Powerless. </p><p>Trapped.</p><p>No back up. </p><p>Alone.</p><p>No one at home to notice him missing. </p><p>In danger. In the den of the beast. </p><p>The closest thing he had to people that <em> might </em>give a damn are at sea-</p><p>Panic settles over him, replacing his missing cloak and mantle. Breaths are now coming in short, fast bursts once again, catching in his parched throat and this must be a dream this must be a nightmare surely no this can’t be- wake up, <em> please let this end </em> he can’t <em> do </em> this he can’t <em> stay </em> here no <b> <em>please-</em> </b></p><p>He wakes up, collapsed on the dark floor, face sticky with dried blood. His nose throbs in protest. </p><p>Alone in the cell, unhearing of anyone, unseeing of anything, wrapped in only terror and chill, Essek curls up on himself and stares into the prowling dark. </p><p>It stares right back.</p><hr/><h4>
<em> It will be a day before he is noticed not attending his position. </em>
</h4><p>The only sound in this tomb is his breathing. His shuffling. His feeling around. There’s just over a foot of give in the chain connecting his ankles he reckons. He uses this to balance and feel out with caution the bottom of  walls. For anything a little higher he works methodically with his tingling hands. </p><p>He had tried and bent and swayed and twisted to unloop the pendant from over his head, but no matter which way he turned, it wouldn’t budge over the base of his skull. It would just dangle, and hang, and <em> taunt </em>him with each attempted pose. He gives up after that. </p><p>The darkness in here was absolute. His adapted vision held for nothing in something so pitch. All he had was his mind’s eye, and the illusory tricks it played to fill the void around him. It makes for a ready canvas, his mental imagery producing themselves in ethereal flashes before him. </p><p>He was in a building, man-made. Bricked for certain- he could feel the seams between them of cracked cement. There’s a couple of iron rings he feels with his shoulder as he presses about, currently not connected to anything else. They’re too high to loop his hands around at this angle, even jumping awkwardly. Pressing his back against them he averages their height to sit between his shoulder blades. </p><p>The floor was flagstone, the largest slab just off the ‘far’ left corner. The smallest was back-centre of the cell, no more than palm-sized. The door was plain and solid- at least on this side. Nothing jutting out, no bolts or rivets. Nothing to catch the rough tourniquets of his bondage on and tear them away in reach. No loose stones that he knows of. He had no idea what lay above his head. This cell could be ten, twenty, fifty feet high and he wouldn’t know. He <em> could </em>know though.</p><p>He wants to scream, he wants to yell and curse. He’s angry, and frustrated. He’s <em> unsettled</em>. </p><p><em> Alone </em>is something he is accustomed to. </p><p>Or he was. Until recently. </p><p>But he bites his tongue, bites his cheek, and swallows saliva. If he makes too much noise, or a loud enough one he may alert whomever imprisoned him that he was awake. Time held no meaning for him here - and he doesn’t know how long he has been unconscious for in total. This precious window may be his only chance to evaluate and plan. There’s no star, or timepiece to track such passage or how long he has left. Regardless, given his weakened physicality, there was an hourglass trickling sand somewhere timing until he could no longer attempt escape. </p><p>The darkness absorbs and obliterates any assumptions and ideas he comes up with. </p><p>Yelling <em> would </em>give an echo though. Would probably tell him how high the ceiling is. The temptation is greater than any knowledge exchanged for holy artefacts in this moment. </p><p>He settles for screaming in his mind, gritting his teeth and swallowing his building cry. </p><p>He tries to send a Message again. </p><p>It fails. Again. </p><p>Maybe they know. Maybe they’re back. Maybe they know he’s missing and gone and are coming to get him. Could they find him? Maybe they could. They’re determined, and resourceful. He'd told them that once. Or maybe they find out, and ... won’t come for him.  <strike> Maybe they don’t care- </strike></p><p>He tastes the windless air once more, and sinks to the ground as though sand filled and weighted his lungs. Rough, gritty brick is his pillow now. </p><p>He might have fallen asleep. It’s hard to distinguish here. </p><hr/><h4>
  <em> It takes two more days before the Court exhausts all immediate means of locating him - to no avail. </em>
</h4><p>Essek knows hunger. He has experienced research frenzies, lost in his own mind scrawling and scribbling, calculating and computing. Food is an afterthought, rest secondary to the thrill and passion of <em> The Idea</em>. Frisson drives him in those rare episodes of compulsion, until he emerges either arcanist victorious or scientist set back. His spellbooks were his canvas, his laboratory and library - his studio. </p><p>They seem so far away now. </p><p>He knows hunger. It usually hits him after a suffering mindless distraction. After stressful days in the Court, running ragged with organisation and paperwork and task distribution to his underlings, He’d return home to find his stomach growling and head faint until nourishment corrected it.</p><p>He knows hunger. The night he had dinner with - with <em> them</em>, at their house, he had been a bundle of nerves. He had paced, and paced, and paced, fretting, hands wringing, before grabbing a bottle of wine and marching over before courage fled him. The few morsels provided had been all he had managed in the last two or three days. He returned home that night, nearly on the arm of another individual, and in his drunkenly-demolished defences, invited him <em> to breakfast</em>.  </p><p>The memory of that night plays out before him in the taunting darkness like a cruel illusion. He watches the broadcast apathetically. </p><p>Even now he wasn’t entirely sure if he meant it as a general invitation for him and the others to come around the next day… or just for <em> him </em>to be there in the morning for breakfast - </p><p>That was a lie. He knew which he meant, even if it hadn’t happened. Wine had made him reckless, emboldened on the courage of spilling his academic desires and complex ambitions so blatantly. Caleb had met him with understanding- cautious but interested. He was <em> tempted</em>. Oh yes. Those intelligent eyes had narrowed, and head tilted in beguiled curiosity in Essek’s way. And if <em> that </em>wasn’t an aphrodisiac for Essek then-</p><p>Yes. He knows hunger. </p><p>Or he thought he did. </p><p>Now his stomach twists as though a wet cloth wrung. </p><p>There was someone ‘caring’ for him, in the crudest, most <em> basal </em> meaning of the word. Essek discovered this fact after one of his headache-induced dozes and finding a meagre goblet of water left by the door. Of course, he only found this out <em> after </em> stumbling and stretching in the dark, tripping over an object that was <em> not </em> in his mind map of this square room thus spilling its contents everywhere. </p><p>Essek had cried out, fearing acid or animal and danger. His feet danced a horrified jig attempting to avoid the flying droplets and some seared into his exposed skin- only to slide right off to the floor slick and wet. </p><p>It was the first sensory clue he’d had in however long that this was all, in fact, <em> real</em>. </p><p>The texture of the brick had faded into a cavernous, mental box. The floor was now an unfeeling plane of unchanging existence. The air was so stagnant and stale he felt in a vacuum. The temperature is unwavering, unrelenting. There was no breeze coming from any crack under the door, no light flickering to offer a sense of depth. He was sealed tight in this hell of <em> nothingness</em>. He is starved, stomach concaving, begging for nourishment. His head spins, his chest aches and throat like sandpaper. </p><p>He is, in a word, desperate. </p><p>In his dishevelled state, unclean, and solitude his only companion, Essek lowers himself and licks at the filthy floor. </p><p>It’s lukewarm now, the few droplets he gets, and awkward to manage with his hands tied behind him. His shoulder ache and <em> ache </em>from being tied in this position so long, his torso stretching outwardly as he twists and bends to angle his face. </p><p>He doesn’t care for how he looks- no one can see him, least of all himself. So he slurps and splashes, feeling dampness on his face for the first time outside of his own cold sweats. </p><p>It tastes of stone- grainy and earthen. It’s dusty, dotted with speckles of dirt and rock, texture like grit down his throat. It could have been poison, sent to end him slowly. Quickly. He doesn’t care, he laps up every drop he can. It’s <em> divine</em>. For those brief few seconds, his tongue watered and throat soothed, this lone puddle is the closest Essek comes to understanding true holiness.</p><p>The goblet is nothing more than a wooden bowl, so used and worn that any edge is more rounded than a clear defined lip. It takes some time, but he manages to cup it in his hands- or at least he thinks he has it. He hasn’t heard it clatter to the ground, and he’s long since lost all feeling in those limbs. </p><p>Maybe they fell off. He wouldn’t know. This darkness is eating all of his senses one by one until he’ll be nothing left but memory and abstraction. </p><p>It’s more comforting a thought, than terrifying. </p><hr/><h4>
  <em> It will be a few nights following when a group of outsiders return, only to find him missing. </em>
</h4><p>The water is a recurring event.</p><p>Essek doesn’t notice when he rests or passes out. Only that he is awake, and then he is waking once more. It is difficult to differentiate the dreamless state from the living nightmare now. </p><p>When he gets up, he has a routine; shuffle around the cell slowly, carefully, feel for any change, any new chip or groove in the stones. If there’s any new dishware. </p><p>The bowl he had liberated was missing from his hands that day. Hour? Week? He doesn’t know. His mind is getting muddled on so little sustenance. After a time he came to and found it refilled in roughly the same spot- just to the right of the door. It was though it had been placed in on the ground, magically reappearing in the same spot. He figured that unlikely, but then- </p><p>Essek <em> never </em> hears the door open. Never had any light shone in the entire time he’s been here. He doesn’t know who, or how, but they seem to be somehow observing him for being unawake. </p><p>He wasn’t in the Dungeon of Penance. He was familiar with those cells and architecture. No. This was <em> outside </em>Rosohna, outside of the Dynasty and Xhorhas. Wherever he was, it was clearly owned by someone powerful enough to ‘get the jump’ on him, as Beauregard might say.</p><p>They’re cunning, whoever they are - and he has a few ideas about <em> who </em> would have the ability, means, <em> and </em>desire to want him buried away. They all lead to the same conclusion. It’s not a comforting one by any stretch of his imagination. </p><p>If it <em> is </em> them, then he’s a little grateful that all he’s had to endure is discomfort. So far. He has no doubt that more will come and that this is only the beginning. He was right when he spoke to his - to the Mighty Nein on the deck. He’s in <em> so </em>much trouble. </p><p>They were weakening him. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Stipped of all garments but his undershirt and trousers, Essek was supposed to be draped in humiliation and defeat. He knows these tactics, crude and abhorrent as they are. They’re inelegant and baseless. Effective, though. </p><p>Oh <em> yes</em>, he does also know of these methods and their successful potency over weaker minds. And over stronger ones- given enough time. Yes, he was <em> supposed </em>to feel hopeless, lost, and vulnerable. Forlorn and abandoned.  </p><p>He wasn’t. Not fully. Not yet. </p><p>He <em> is </em> affected, of that much he is aware. How could he not be? His stimulation went from books, and spellwork, and people that he cared for, court work, research, navigating newfound <em> feelings </em> and <em> guilt </em>to … endless void. </p><p>His mind, used to receiving signals and ideas and thoughts and images and concepts and ambitions- of objectives to reach and aim for, schemes hatched and ruined- now clutched at straws for even the <em>barest</em> hint of shapes in the dark. </p><p>His mind had always been running at full speed, and now, imprisoned and entrapped, he was forced to a halting stop with <em> nothing </em>to distract and chase, ignore or confront. Nothing but his own fears and insecurities. He was stumbling, tripping, crashing sanity-first into the maw of the empty, hungry dark around him. He was helpless to brake against the oncoming danger, aware that any other way out would be permanent and irreversible. </p><p>A bitter laugh escapes him. It’s just as well he wasn’t consecuted, it would have done him no good this far from Rosohna anyway. There’s a small comfort in that, knowing that no poor child is going to wake up some decades from now, and realise he was a Dynastic traitor of the highest degree and ended like this- deserved and earned. On top of which he was also a retroactively awful friend to some truly incredible people. </p><p>So he stumbles, back on that slippery, barbed slope as he spirals into that isolating frame of mind and right down the gullet of despondency. The digestion will be long and slow, of that he is sure.</p><p>So it goes, his moods rotating in spates, pendulous and perpetual. </p><p>When he swung one way, his temperament was low and depressing. But after reaching that peak, that <em> pinnacle</em>, his disposition pivots about-face and accelerates rapidly to the opposite end of this incessant arc. On his way to this next crest, this next high, Essek’s ire swells.</p><p>Like a struck match he could be inflamed. He would be burning, hot and angry. They <em> dare </em> kidnap him? Not only that, he had been accosted in his own <em> home</em>. In <em> his </em> sanctorium and asylum they had trespassed. <em> That </em> incensed him more at times- the violation of his property than the negligence of his person. Essek doesn’t covet many material things, but what he <em> did </em> was stowed in those three towers with careful placement and purpose. And they had <em> defiled </em>it, and by extension him. And then he had been accosted.  </p><p>But like any match, he would eventually crumble to cinders, drooping and dispersing to the ground to sit in darkness once more. He hadn’t noticed anything amiss. Hadn’t suspected any breach at all in his house that night, too caught up in his own pity to notice. </p><p>And backwards along the wide swinging crescent that was his fracturing mentality he goes. Until he was lit alight again at something new. </p><p><em> This </em> time he was irritated. And <em> angry</em>. Because of their dribble of water - just enough to no doubt keep him alive but still seeping strength - and his bound arms, he was forced to <em>soil</em> his own clothes with no accessible alternative. </p><p>He won’t acknowledge the warmth and how he momentarily basked in just a <em> little </em> bit of heat, but the shame that followed - it <em> overwhelmed </em> him to the point of mortification and pushed him firmly into <em> rage</em>. </p><p>He wasn’t a single match lit now, he was the full box. </p><p>So he tries to barrel down the iron door. </p><p>It was stupid. He <em> knew </em> that. He wasn’t physically strong on the best of days- not like Yasha or Jester. He <em> knew </em>it wasn’t going to budge. Even before he’d urinated, there had already been a lingering smell or it from the corner with the large flagstone. He wasn’t the first occupant in this cell. Nor would he be the last, most likely. </p><p>And <em> yet</em>, feeling that liquid heat run down his legs, drenching his feet and degrading his person he felt <em> livid</em>. How <b> <em>dare </em> </b> they. For <em> anyone </em> to be reduced to this was depravity, but <em> him</em>? Essek Thelyss, Shadowhand and Dunamantic prodigy? The offence felt <em> twice </em>as repulsive. </p><p>So he charges at the door. </p><p>Thinking back, he wonders if part of the decision (if it could really be called that) was the desire to just <em> feel</em>. To have something just jar him hard enough to perhaps end this nightmare - this awful illusion swiftly starting to eat away at him from the inside out. Maybe it was something as subconscious as that. It would be nice to think it wasn’t a primal outburst.</p><p>But at the time, all he sees is red, and in a woefully uncharacteristic display of force, bereft of any other show of it, Essek assaults the door.</p><p>The reverberation knocks him clean back, stumbling until he bangs into the far wall and clattering hard to the ground. His shirt is now also partially drenched in the puddle. But he has no mind for that as new pain assaults him. </p><p>It was stupid, he <em> knew </em> that, but he was so <em> infuriated </em> at the sheer <em> gall </em> his captors had <em> - </em>  but now his already-aching shoulder screamed in agony- a new, tearing heat burning through him as his shoulder wept and split apart. His neck had snapped backwards, whiplashed at the alternating directions his body slammed in such a fast interval and he meets the ground with an echoing <em> crack</em>. For the first time in here, Essek sees a flash of light beyond his eyes. </p><p>Lying in that persistent dark - surrounded by his own body fluids and feeling a despair so seeded and well-watered with an agony so thoroughly <em> raw </em> - Essek hears a new sound over everything.</p><p>It turns out to be the door creaking open. </p><hr/><h4>
  <em> Going without sleep or rest, the returned adventurers hunt and investigate. They find nothing.</em>
</h4><p>The blinding light had him grievously trying to scramble on the floor to hide away. His shoulder already on fire, arms twisted up his back on this position, and now his eyes seared white with the bright wash flooding him-</p><p>He hears a deep, bawdy chuckle and <em> noise</em>. He hears <em> noise</em>. A voice or two- not his own. He doesn’t think. So distant so far away but the light is as debilitating as the dark and he can’t <em> see- </em></p><p>He has no time to evaluate as he’s already being dragged to his twisted ankles and pulled forward into that glaring portal.</p><p>He’s hissing through his teeth and spitting blood head lolling still ringing with the impact spinning with pain with light and noise and <em> touch </em> he was being <em> touched </em>and now sensory overload throttles him they have him held roughly under his arms and he is helpless to escape the tops of his feet dragging along unsmooth stone-</p><p>“You owe me a gold, he didn’t take that long to break.” It’s Common, accented and thick on his left. </p><p><em>“Fuck up,</em> he’s been skulking around for days. You can hear him muttering and tuttin’” his right says. “Fuckin’ <em>crick</em> filth.”</p><p>He doesn’t think to thrash or protest because the change in air is too <em> fresh </em> by comparison to where he was that he’s inhaling deep lungfuls as he is pulled along and his body is so weak in their grip, a dripping trail following them-</p><p>“Oh <em> fuck </em> what’s- oh bloody hell <em> look- </em> dumb fucker pissed his pants.” A grody laugh finishes the insult. Essek cares little, his mind piecing together too many details unable to correlate or calculate but then there is some sense amongst the chaos and the fear is <em> intensifying- </em></p><p>It does not escape his notice, that his feet  -which he tried so hard to keep off the ground <em> before- </em>now drag along limply soaking up as much dirt and filth as possible. </p><p>The guard on his right jostles him roughly, spitting words that Essek doesn’t have the ability to try to care about right now. The movement was so rough and violent, and <em> repeated</em>, that Essek’s shoulder pops back into its socket from where it’d dislodged.</p><p>Unable to control, he involuntarily convulses in their grasp with a strangled gasp- </p><p>Without warning they drop him face-first to the ground as he rides it out. A fresh blinding light spears his senses. He thinks he hears the crack of glass or bone and then nothing else. He must have passed out with the pain, he figures later.</p><p>When he comes to he is unable to articulate anything. </p><p>All thoughts are halted as a rush of pain threatens to drown him. Wrists no longer behind him, instead his arms are bound <em> beside </em>him, now righted to proper alignment. His muscles rattle as his senses reconnect through his system. Consciousness now is just a cruel setting to remind him of the damage he’s wearing.</p><p>And reminded he is.</p><p>He is reminded over, and over, and <em> over </em>again of how unnaturally his arms had been tied for so long, now screaming as they settle into their rightful arrangement. </p><p>A crusted mass on his chin reminds him with each careful work of his jaw that his nose was bleeding, most likely broken, temple throbbing-</p><p>An itch on his foot reminds him how clawed and <em> abused </em>those body parts are now, patched with newborn blisters and bloodied scratches. </p><p>A ringing sensation between his ears shakes his closed vision and the pound-pound-pound of his pulse matches the palpitating bubble of nausea climbing up his throat. </p><p>He thinks he blacks out again. </p><p>The pain is duller when he wakes this time. It may have been mere moments, or countless centuries - he doesn’t know. The throbbing from his shoulders still steadily thud into the back of his skull, and a low groan escapes him. </p><p>He isn’t in his… the <em> cell </em>anymore. The light beyond his lids is too real to be that dire box. He tries to peek- but it’s still too blinding, even a light this dim. He turns to the only other senses he can rely on. </p><p>If it weren’t for the bonds at his ankles, midriff and wrists, Essek might have thought himself <em> home</em>. He <em> knows </em>that chemical smell. It’s cleanliness and organisation. It’s research and development. It’s hard work and drive. </p><p>It’s experimentation. </p><p>The straps around him suddenly feel a lot tighter. </p><p>His ears twitch- there’s movement around. A shuffling, clinking of beakers or glass. Alchemical equipment. Yes, he hears the bubbling far to his right. A thrum of a consistent flame near it also. There’s the curling sound of pouring liquid, the satisfying <em> pop </em>of a phial being stoppered with a cork.</p><p>Someone is humming. </p><p>The strap around his torso, even though separated by his dirtied undershirt, is still branding his skin with every huff and panicked breath Essek is failing to quell. For the first time in this experience, he isn’t <em> alone</em>. </p><p>And it’s the first time he desperately desires to be so. </p><p>The humming stops when he chokes. “Aah. It seems ze subject is avake.”</p><p>Essek freezes. The worlds are so <em> drawled</em>, so tilted with intent that it borders on lascivious. It’s a man, he knows that much with that deep a voice. Empire accent. Similar to Caleb’s but so much <em> less </em>inviting on the ears. He said only a few words, but it was enough to gauge exactly what kind of man stood across the room. His voice was quiet, but authoritative. He doesn’t need to raise his voice to demand respect. Or fear. </p><p>And he knows it. </p><p>Essek did. He used to wear that particular persona well himself. </p><p>He would bask in the slight recoil of those lesser and beneath him, watch them wilt under his watchful gaze, voice calm, words carefully chosen, steady and deliberate. He knows how effective a cool, collected tone is when in the dominating position of power in an exchange or meeting. He knows all too well what nerves he can instill with a raised eyebrow, or a narrowing of the eyes. A simple twist of the head could send an inferior shrinking in on themselves, a shark-like grin extracting a whole body withdrawal. </p><p>Yes. Essek knows this man <em> very </em>well. He’s been a version of him himself, once upon a time. </p><p>Footsteps pitter towards him. </p><p>Essek thinks back to those he had gleefully intimidated, showing off his status and position. It wasn’t often he did, but there had been small delights in feeling superior sometimes to those that annoyed him. But now he was on the flip side of that exchange... And Essek finds he very much doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of such a man. Essek’s bravado had been mostly hollow. Mostly. </p><p>He fears very swiftly that this man was so much the opposite. And now that Essek’s position was reversed, the consequences of displeasure could be far more dire than a tarnished reputation or false word. Whichever way he argues, he has little say in the matter.</p><p>Essek shakes against the straps. The voice is outwardly unfamiliar, but now with the estimated knowledge that his captors are aligned with - or even <em> are </em>- the Assembly, Essek’s sense of danger has spiked aggressively. So he fruitlessly shakes and strains and pulls-</p><p>And realises they’re made of <em> leather</em>. </p><p>They’re <em> not </em> the manacles or rope. Perhaps-? <em> What if- </em>?</p><p>He risks it. He <em> must</em>. Muttering under his breath, in the language of his Den and people, Essek hurriedly muddles through a familiar incantation. Each word is punctuated by a footstep growing nearer and nearer - he’s so close just a little more- <em> one more line- </em> he <em> finishes</em>!</p><p>He goes nowhere.</p><p>The seed of fear, planted so stealthily, now sprouts a first proper blossom- its perfume of urine, blood, and laboratory chemicals. It’s as potent as it is tangible. </p><p>A new sound reaches his ears- from a source so close Essek can feel the ghost of fabric settling near his hand. It’s a chuckle, insidious and guileful. </p><p>“No, no, no, little crick. <em> None </em>of that.” One gloved finger lays across Essek’s panting, parted lips and without spell or muzzle, Essek is silenced. “Much better. Now zen, let us get vhat it is ve need.” </p><p>There’s a sharp slice on his inner arm, and Essek’s eyes snap open. </p><p>When he is returned to the cell, a time and eternity later, he is not left bound as before. Instead he is roughly propped against the unfeeling wall, arms raised and manacles looped through one of the iron rings looming above. </p><p>Lightheaded, he watches through hooded lids as his ‘guards’ deposit and secure him, spit on him, and then leave. That last sliver of light as the door closes is the most blessed thing he’d ever seen. </p><p>And then he’s left alone once more in the familiar, enveloping dark. </p><p>Essek cannot feel much. His body is aching all over too vividly to differentiate the pains now decorating his skeleton. It’s all one screaming exclamation point punctuating his consciousness and existence.</p><p>There’s still sticky blood on his face, dried from where he was dropped. His arms now secured above him at his ‘doctor’s’ orders to stem the blood from the wound. There’s a pristine, neat bandage now wrapped around his new scar - the cleanest thing in the damn place. </p><p>Essek doesn’t know how many phials were filled, only that the man in white took, and took, and took all the while humming an unknown tune. Essek was helpless to stop it, forced to lie there as he was forcibly drained for nameless, nefarious purposes. </p><p>Throughout the entire process, strained and sickening as it was, Essek’s rickety courage finally dissolved. His oscillating rage fizzled out. Fear gave way to hopeless acceptance. This swiftly collapsed into dysequilibrium - schismed and alienated -before his psyche finally morphed into exhaustion. </p><p>All of his senses hone in on the one pulsing wound in his arm, feeling with each heartbeat the trickle of his lifeblood leave him. Two gloved hands hold his elbow and instruments steady, firm and sure in their work. Essek hates that the first contact he had was so violating and invasive, and yet he <em> still </em>craved it. Cherished it. Just for a moment. </p><p>Essek cannot feel much. But he feels shame. And realisation. He’s in a lot of trouble, and he’s helpless to do anything about it. </p><p>Unbeknownst to him, wallowing under this new dark parasol in this dungeon, Essek does not notice the pendant on his chest- its stone now facing his skin. If he did ever gain the wherewithal to focus on it, he may have felt -just nipping at his diaphragm - a slight chip and crack in the object. </p><p>But Essek is now wavering in and out of consciousness, unaware of this new flaw and what it means.His vision is swimming in the murky depths of growing defeat, unaware of a faint trickle of blood carving a rivulet from under his bandage, and down his arm. </p><p>The hood falling over his eyes is insubstantial, yet just as effective. Horror seeps into his skin, through his pores, along his veins and bleeding into his bones. The startling fear that this was his new <em> normal </em>rattled him so thoroughly that Essek is unaware of his new surroundings. His new cell. </p><p>Coming from the laboratory, dragged carelessly, low on life so silently siphoned from his arm, Essek is unaware that his new accomodations were closer to that medical room than before. If he were able to notice this, he would have concluded it was for easier, and quicker, access to his person. </p><p>He might wake, in a little while, startled out of a dreamless doze by an echoing scream or pained whine beyond the door. But they do not register to him, their sources far beyond his confines both mental and real.</p><p>Essek hangs by his arms, slumped against a scratchy, brick wall and unaware of most new sensations around him. He’s too lost in his own head, his own breaking body. </p><p>But a most important piece of unknown information, is that at this moment, somewhere across the continent, perched on a table in a gifted house, a determined friend <em> finally </em>sees him for the first time in weeks. </p><p>But Essek doesn’t know this. He doesn’t even register when new footsteps are heard, and a door opens to place a goblet of water on the inside of the door. </p><p>To what end it is gifted to him, he doesn’t know. When he wakes, he can’t even get up to reach it. </p><hr/><h4>
  <em> A week and a half after his disappearance, the resolute few have a hint to his whereabouts. </em>
</h4><p>The ceiling of this laboratory is tiled. Repeating equilateral squares of beige. Judging by some of the coloured cloud imprints in other areas of the room, Essek thinks it used to be a pristine white at one point. His <em> own </em>lab was extensively cleaned and expunged routinely to prevent and avoid such unsightly stains. Disappointing practices from someone of the Assembly, he thinks. </p><p>This - <em> this </em>had become his new normal. Just his stagnating mind and body alternating between a single laboratory and his cell. </p><p>There had been a temporary improvement in his situation- his captor and vampire had berated the guards that transported his limp body between points. Essek needed to be <em> alive </em>to be siphoned. That soon wasn’t going to be the case, he’d heard the Doctor state. He’d die of malnourishment soon unless remedied and reversed rapidly.</p><p>He was to be given <em> actual </em>food. </p><p>Essek won’t deny the spur of excitement that raced through him at the thought of <em> anything </em>in his stomach. But it didn’t last long. Chained in the cell by his wrists once more (they no longer did his ankles- what was the point, he was too weak to fight… just like they wanted) one guard impatiently tilted a bowl of broth through his lips. </p><p>Essek had choked on it, and spat. It was vile, cold. Lumpy. All he could get. But the texture and energy required to masticate the coagulated chunks overthrew him until he gagged. What little he did manage to swallow, before the guard drew away disgusted, ended up being vomited beside him anyway. </p><p>It took a few more attempts for him to keep anything else down. The upside was that he gained a little more clarity as time went on. The downside was that he was being called to the Doctor more frequently with his slightly 'improved health’. </p><p>Essek couldn’t speak during these visits. After his first attempt at teleportation, part of his routine uniform in the lab now included a cloth gag. The Doctor, as Essek had taken to calling him, would ignore Essek for the most part, simply stepping around his environs, humming that same damn tune. </p><p>Essek thinks he lies there for hours and not even be looked at, and then the Doctor is there, needle and scalpel in hand, taking and taking, muttering and noting. </p><p>Essek tried to think of these ‘trips out’ as information gathering, rather than what it really was- an animal on display to use and abuse. He attempted to capture the corridor layouts, how many cells were between here and there. If there were many guards or patrols. Anything that could help. </p><p>What he received was blank walls, blank stares, and reverberating screams from deeper beyond. Other unknown denizens harboured here against their will. He only hoped he wouldn’t be one of the ones screaming that wretchedly in time. </p><p>He simultaneously began to look forward to these excursions- for it was evidence of life beyond the dark shroud of his cell- but also fearing them and what harm may become him next. </p><p>It soon became routine. Cell. Alone. Dark. Cold. Chained. Hallways. Light. Dragged. Bound. Drained.. </p><p>It soon became routine to be fed something foul and discarded at the end of these outings, spooned by a disgruntled guard- usually one of four or so. Faces blurred in his lightheadedness, but they had different shapes, sizes,sighs and swears. He began to differentiate by their huffs and manners (or lack thereof).  None of them spared any sympathy for the crick filth they were forced to take care of. No. Sympathy was a foreign concept here in this lawless hell. </p><p>So he settled into this routine, marking off the visits as another ‘day’ before descending into that tiresome exhaustion that he soon began to crave. It was an escape, it was freedom. For a time.  </p><p>But the thing about routine, Essek soon learns, was that it made one complacent. </p><hr/><h4>
  <em> It will be five more long, neverending days before they discover a map location and direction. </em>
</h4><p>Essek twists his head on the hard board of his table, and watches. </p><p>The Doctor is a professional. For all the environment isn’t wholly to Essek’s satisfaction as a workspace, the man who owns the room is exquisite to watch. </p><p>Every beaker has a place, every journal and source book a shelf. There are several tables of various equipment bubbling and toiling away, each one carefully calibrated to unknown specifications. </p><p>Results were piled to one side of the room, where the Doctor could sit for hours penning away, swirling, sniffing, and mixing his various phials. The tubes and beakers themselves were stacked in organised rows with carefully inked labels adhered on. A sink, clean and tidy, sat quietly in the corner. </p><p>Light was provided by sickly yellow lanterns- magical most likely, for he does not smell the bold perfume of oil or paraffin.</p><p>The door was wide- for a door. Wider than his cell anyway. He couldn’t see much else, the table he lay upon mostly facing a corner himself. From brief glimpses between entry and exit, there was just storage behind him. </p><p>A curtain rail is affixed above him, but the curtain is always drawn on his left hand side. The Doctor never went behind it when Essek was present. </p><p>When he wasn’t sitting at his desk, penning and scribbling,  he was waltzing around the room, lightly stepping between his experiments and knowing exactly where everything was. Hands tinkered, fingers drummed. Older eyes searched and observed. He was tall, and human. Essek would most likely come to his shoulders. Thin, with a straight silhouette thanks to the grey smock he wore. His eyes were small, but knowing. Essek could see the calculations running through his head whenever his face was in range. A pair of thin, half-moon glasses sat perched on his nose. </p><p>He would peer over them whenever he stood beside Essek. It made him feel naked under his stare and Essek shuddered his unease.</p><p>The Doctor had made this place his very own, and from a professional point of view, Essek was impressed. Almost. It was very swiftly drowned out every time his shadow fell across Essek’s face. </p><p>He himself would work methodically like that, once upon a time. Everything had a proper place for easy reference. His desk was organised <em> just </em>so. Shelves alphabetised by author and subject for quick citation. Yes, it was good to have order in the workspace, especially when one’s mind is churning on ideas and developments. </p><p>There was only one time where that balance had been upset, and while it wasn’t his lab, his study was equally as sanctified to him. It had been a delightful morning, following a night of initial nerves that had dissolved into tentative new steps forward. </p><p>The study - he found upon returning after their exit - had been a mass of disarray. Books pulled out haphazardly, loose page leafs left littered. Scrawls and ink splats, spell equations and calculations drawn and discarded. His own mantle lay fallen carelessly on the floor in an ungracious heap. </p><p>It had been of the most <em> exhilarating </em>experiences in his memory. He had been left breathing heavily, intellectually sated and satisfied in that magic way when the final complex pieces of the puzzles slotted together. </p><p>And it was now a lifetime ago. </p><p>The footsteps draw his way, in that now recognisable echo when they come to his end of the room. Essek turns away, unwilling to watch the scabbing wound be pierced again. </p><p>Except -it doesn’t come. </p><p>The Doctor, humming his <em> incessant </em>tune, likes to do things to his own tempo. He’d wait until his chorus, the melody repeating on itself before slicing into him for a count of four. Then the scalpel would release, and the tube be pressed in. Essek hadn’t seen his arm much, it was only ever unbandaged for the bloodletting and then done up fresh until next time. But he could <em>feel</em> the growing bruise crawling mournfully up his arm.  </p><p>So he listens to the tune,and waits. He feels the churning anticipation in his stomach as the familiar moment is coming. He makes a fist in preparation - it gets it over with quicker - head turned away, the bars of the refrain beginning and- </p><p>Nothing. No slice. No pierce.</p><p>He can <em> feel </em>the body beside him, his proprioception tuned into anything foreign from sitting in the black for so long. But no scalpel cuts-</p><p>He gasps, choking against his gag. </p><p>A pinch -then sharp pressure- his skin pierced- a new puncture forming in his upper arm. Something seeps into him, trickling through his limb and across his chest like chilled, ice-bitten water. </p><p>He feels it crawling, and miring through, winding down each and every vein hungry and ravenous. It catches in his lungs, coats his stomach, and travels down to his legs.</p><p>“Zere, zat vasn’t so bad now.” A gloved hand pats his cheek condescendingly and reactively Essek flinches with a snarl. A sharp backhand is his punishment. “Behave yourself. You should be honoured- zis strain is the healthiest one yet. Ze others didn’t fare as vell under the last ones, no.” He pulls back that damned curtain and laying there is an unmistakable Kryn drow. Dead. Mutated pustules and blisters plastered his skin-  “Zey vere too unstable, sadly.” One finger traces down Essek’s ear, along the tendons of his neck, following the pathway of his clavicle. “Do not vorry- I vould not vaste such a useless concoction on <em> you</em>. Not ven you are … such a <em> rare </em>test subject.”</p><p>Essek’s skin is crawling, burning where the finger had travelled, but it is buried under the scorching <em>sensation</em> threatening to <em>overtake</em> him and setting his bones on <em>fire</em>-</p><p>The straps strain and groan as his body is convulsing and shaking and trembling and exerting muscles tensing and thrashing with nowhere to go his only witness watching on with keen interest and lustful eyes as there’s foam in his mouth and blood on his tongue and tears down his face new bruises forming where his body his head his limbs his back slams and slams and <em>slams </em>and <strong><em>slams</em> </strong>into the table over and over the leather bindings cutting new tattoos into his skin as he strains and writhes with nowhere to <em>go</em> his vision is swarming swimming stirring shaking fading into a brief pinprick of light-</p><p>And then release is found. </p><p>Nothing could have prepared Essek for the newest update to his normality. He learned not to get complacent again after that.</p><hr/><h4>
<em>It takes just over a week for h</em><em>is would-be rescuers to travel through demanding, hostile terrain.</em>
</h4><p>The Dark was a curious canvas, alone in that cell. Essek would slump to one side, arms pulling, watching on as memories and experiences- real or not? he can’t remember any more- played before him. </p><p>He’s on the deck of the Balleater, drinking wine in the sunlight painlessly, feet dipping in the ocean. A parasol rests over his shoulder, shading him from all bad. </p><p>Veth is dancing in her yellow dress. Caduceus is coming up from the ship kitchen with a platter of vegetables and cheese. Beauregard is swaggering around the deck, laughing and pointing at him fondly. Jester is gifting him cupcakes, messaging him with her thoughts. Fjord is overselling a <em> grossly </em>overdone performance, and everyone is laughing. Yasha is perched on the deck stairs, soaking in the sunlight and plucking at her harp. Frumpkin is in his lap, Essek can feel the fur in his fingers, soft and fine. The purring sends soft hums through his body, relaxing and inviting. </p><p>Caleb is there, raising a beacon high in the middle of the deck. He has the artefact in one hand, an open book in the other. He is not gazing at the Bright Queen and her court, but rather at him, stern and serious. </p><p>He drops the beacon low, and offers it out to him. Essek steps backwards- onto a plank. <em> ‘No,'</em>  he thinks. ‘<em>I’ll just selfishly trade it away.</em>’ Caleb shakes his head, fiery hair floating lightly around him as a halo. He offers the beacon again. </p><p>Essek takes another barefooted step back. The wood is solid beneath him, but he can smell the rot from behind. He’ll never make it to the end of the plank. He doesn’t deserve to. </p><p>The sky has been shrouded out by an oncoming darkness. It blots the sun and inks the sea.</p><p>The others have stopped their games and frivolity. They crowd behind Caleb, watching silently. Solemnly. </p><p>Below him, the sea is the cell he resides in- endless black and void. Sharks are swimming, their fins painted with candles and diamonds. They’re ready to devour, to consume, to masticate, chew and spit him back out to be left as nothing more than remnants of his former self.</p><p>And then the beacon is in his hands.</p><p>Caleb hasn’t moved. But he stands on the end of the plank, hand still outstretched. Essek looks between the relic and his friend to the churning cyclone below him. The sharks are still lashing, teeth chomping just <em> waiting </em>for him to jump-</p><p>He gravitates to the blue eyes, burning bright with hope. </p><p>The world falls out of focus lost to that gaze. There’s a blur, an overlap and superimposition over the fairer wizard and suddenly Essek is looking at himself, an empty hand held out, <em> surrounded by friends.  </em></p><p>Essek takes one tentative step forward. </p><p>That’s all it takes, and now he’s safe in the Xhorhaus, in the middle of a pile of people cheering and holding him because he <em> did </em> it, he made the <em> right choice </em>-! </p><hr/><h4>
  <em> It’s just over three weeks since his abduction that a rescue is planned and attempted. </em>
</h4><p>It was a fucking shit posting this, standing in the hallway of nutjobs and loons. Not to mention the scum-of- the-earth crick. <em> God </em>that pissant could waffle on. </p><p>For the last several shifts, whenever she dragged his sorry ass back from the Doc’s lab with whatever dumbfuck she was posted with, he was a gibbering mess of saliva and whines. She doesn’t know what the Doc was doing with him, but she didn’t envy the bugger. He was absolutely <em> gone</em>. </p><p>She’d seen his devolution over the last few weeks. It wasn’t a pretty sight. The Doc's experiments never were. But he lasted longer than the others before going stark raving mad. </p><p>The first couple o’ days had been funny, listening in at his door as he paced and cursed, feeling and stumbling around. Always a laugh, that bit. Then it turned to panic, and realisation, and <em> fear</em>. That was her favourite part of new ‘patients’. </p><p>From then on he got a bit weird. He would talk aloud, in his heathen language, and answer himself back, the absolute tit. She’d seen many-a-folk go mad in the asylum long <em> after </em> arrival, but he <em> really </em>took the cake with his mumbling and one-sided conversations.</p><p>It got boring once he started waning though. Only on water for the first week or so he drooped pretty quickly. Shifts were boring as fuck when she had nothing to listen to. </p><p>But then he totally lost the plot and actually <em> charged the door- </em> the fucking idiot! Oh, she had earned a nice pot that day! That was a story she told in the staff quarters, embellishing and exaggerating how he pissed his pants upon seeing her and - </p><p>Well, she had fun anyway. That explosion of his had been the reported signal they’d to wait for- when he finally <em> broke- </em>to take him to the Doc’s. </p><p>He didn’t fight like previous captured cricks had. Most of them thrashed and fought, spat and screamed. But this one was almost putty- until the bellend started shaking on them. Dropping him to to the floor with a cry had earned him a nasty bruise- and her a nasty rebuke from the Doc. Reluctantly, she was more <em> careful </em>whenever she was on shift after that with the crick worm. </p><p>But it got more interesting at least after that. Once the Doc stopped taking the blood and started actually injecting him, the entertainment started back up again. </p><p>She and her cohort standing guard in that hallway would often break rank to go up to his door to listen to the mumbled gurgles and speeches. She doesn’t even think he was aware he was doing them. The talks frequently flitted between languages best she could tell, but she only knew Common, not that other devil tongue he spoke, so she only got half the fucking conversations. What a load of shite. </p><p>Still, it made them both laugh when the prisoner babbled on about a ship and the sharks until he erupted in crooked laughter. What a mad fucker. </p><p>The mood broke though when the laughter dissolved into tears and apologies and <em> cries for help</em>. She rolled her eyes, tutting and went back to her post. <em> Fuck’s sake</em>. Now she’ll have to listen to <em> that </em>until he passes out again. </p><p>Turns out this became a routine thing after a visit to the Doc’s- the babbling turned wailing. Whatever Doc was applying to the purple-skinned bastard, it was doing something <em> fucked up </em> to his brain. </p><p>Over the next few days, he stopped speaking at all. Not even when kicked or hair grabbed did he react. His gaze was just so far away, unseeing even when in the light. Yup. Completely and utterly gone. </p><p>She sighs. Well, she always has the mad old woman in the H-Corridor to bully and poke.</p><hr/><h4>
  <em> Nearly one full month since the disappearance of Essek Thelyss, a group of Nein stand outside his cell door. </em>
</h4><p>A cleric, angered and infuriated, breaks down the cast iron door to a far-hidden cell with a determined cry and fierce assault.</p><p>It collapses in a loud heap, kicking up stone dust and clouding her entrance. She indicates for a spell to be dropped, and her true form makes itself known in an angelic horned silhouette against the light.</p><p>Wings made of her friends and companions flank her from the outside as she steps forward, one hand shakily outstretched and voice breaking on his name. </p><p>But the man she speaks to doesn’t understand any of this.</p><p>He’s too tormented and fragmented to recognise any of it.</p><p>Or any of them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Apparatus Hominis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Holy. Shit. Guys. Your <i> feedback and reactions </i> to Interlude II was just.... I'm blown. Away. Like, holy shit. <b><i>We really out here feeling for our shadowhand huh </i> </b> I just... love you all so much. You're incredible T_T thank you &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There<em> is a deep crack in a stone slab by the wall,<br/></em><em>n</em><em>ear the corner of the passage end.</em></p><p>The body of an iron door settles, forcibly removed from its hinges.</p><p>A high ringing pitch that dissolves to a low thrum resonates down the hallway.</p><p>It buzzes along every wall and floor like a spiderweb twanged. </p><p><em>It’s a natural fracture, that crack.<br/></em> <em>Born of wear and tear from a prison so old. </em></p><p>A cloud of dust kicks up. He ignores the particles settling on him. </p><p>She steps through the threshold, unbothered by the disturbed smog, and trampling over that last obstacle. </p><p><em>The fissure cuts through the slab like a river<br/></em><em> where it meets a canyon wall of brick.</em> </p><p>“Es- <em>Essek</em>?” They lose sight of her as she goes in further. He barely breathes. And then-</p><p>She gasps. </p><p>It is not a happy gasp. It’s a shocked one. A frightened one. A most foreboding omen.</p><p><em>The crooked line climbs onwards and upwards, <br/></em> <em>angling sharply to the north-western corner.</em></p><p>“<em>Oh- </em> oh no! <em>Essek</em>I- he- <em> help</em>! Caduceus!” </p><p>The firbolg is already moving, parting the darkness with his lighted staff until he too disappears from sight.</p><p>"<em>Oh </em>-oh no, you poor man. Here let’s- Jester come-”</p><p>“We need to break these manacles guys- he’s real hurt! <em> Hurry!</em>”</p><p><em>The empty rift splits at a fork.<br/></em> <em>The left fracture goes up, to the ceiling.</em></p><p>Nott is scurrying, searching her pockets.</p><p>Beauregard scrambling at her belt also.</p><p>They turn up empty. </p><p>“I got nothing <em> left- </em> ” Nott says.</p><p>The monk echoes the same. “ <em> Shit</em>! Uh-”</p><p>A discarded set of the last lockpick lies alone in the corner, broken and bent.</p><p>Where the fracture is.</p><p><em>The other dips down and turns the corner.<br/></em> <em>He goes right. </em></p><p>Yasha steps in the cell, her sword drawn.</p><p>“Excuse me please, Jester,” she asks quietly.</p><p> Jester steps back into his vision, hands wringing.</p><p>Her eyes are fixated deeper into the cell. </p><p>He does not see her expression in his periphery. </p><p>He does not need to. He follows a more important pathway. </p><p><em>Following this stone map, he transfers to a new wall. <br/></em> <em>A wall with a wrecked doorway.</em></p><p>A resonating clang emerges from the cell.</p><p>And another.</p><p>And another.</p><p>Yasha’s grunting pants, her guttural low groans punctuate each swing.</p><p>He can hear the droplets of her spit land on hard, unfeeling stone.</p><p>The darkness sparks with every assault.</p><p><em>The crack cuts a jagged lightning bolt along the top of the door,<br/></em> <em>before dipping under and entering. <br/></em> <em>Teasing. Inviting.</em></p><p>A rattling of piling metal is heard.</p><p>And then a second.</p><p>There’s a period of settling, like the sound of coins falling over each other, before-</p><p>Silence.</p><p>Jester rushes out of sight again with a distressed <em> ‘oh</em>!’</p><p>Yasha steps out. </p><p>He follows the splitting sign.</p><p>His feet are stepping forward already.</p><p>
  <em>It must go above the door on the inside as well-</em>
</p><p>Yasha doesn’t sheathe her sword as she backs away, allowing entry. </p><p>Another step forward.</p><p><em>How high does it travel? <br/></em> <em>How high is the ceiling in here-</em></p><p>He stands at the threshold, his shadow a long, foreboding shape in the span of illumination.</p><p>Mechanically, his neck twists to the scene beside him. </p><p>Two clerics are on their knees, bracketing a creature so wasted and slumped,</p><p>he would have discarded it for dead without a second glance. </p><p>Bruised, abused skin peeks through ratty rags- remnants of attire he recognises.</p><p>Purple tones, once upon a time. And dark blue. Navy. With silver.</p><p>The skin is… also carved. And populated.</p><p>Pustules, bulbous and numerous have latched on to this corpse.</p><p>Thick ulcers gather in clusters of bodily mutiny. </p><p>Patches of skin enflamed and weeping. </p><p>Blue sclera, with black spots swirling beneath. </p><p>Offensive white wraps cover one forearm,</p><p>unable to hide the slices of crimson seeping through. </p><p>Feet are swollen and haggard. </p><p>Ankles are thin. Too thin.</p><p>Hands are limp.</p><p>Unmoving on the ground.</p><p>Two metal bracelets guard gaunt wrists.</p><p>Fingers are crooked, listless.</p><p>Too still.</p><p>He was always using them.</p><p>When talking.</p><p>Casting.</p><p>Why aren’t they moving. </p><p>The nails are broken and uneven.</p><p>A manicure he himself had for a decade and more. </p><p>His nails were <em>always</em> kept clean.</p><p>He was meticulous about his appearance.</p><p>They shouldn’t be filthy now.</p><p>Red brick framing him bears evidence of recent scratches and clawing efforts. </p><p>Only the faintest movement of the torn shirt indicates life.  </p><p>The hollow of his throat, too hollow.</p><p>Too shadowed.</p><p>A collar bone too protruding. </p><p>Against his chest, a jaw lolls languidly.</p><p>It was too sharp, too cutting. </p><p>The breathing is rattled. </p><p>Wheezy. </p><p>A sheen of saliva coats his chin.</p><p>Eyes closed. </p><p>Why are they closed.</p><p>They’re intelligent eyes.</p><p>Always observing.</p><p>And watching</p><p>And communicating- </p><p>A glowing hand reaches to touch one skeletal shoulder. </p><p><em>His</em> hand is wrapped around hers before the thought is finished </p><p>preventing contact</p><p>mere inches away.</p><p>Breath comes in two deep huffs as she startles- the other cleric about to challenge-</p><p>“<em>Don't</em>.” </p><p>“Do-don’t?? Hey what the <em> fuck </em>Ca-?” she tries to pull away. "<em>Let me go!</em>"</p><p>He doesn’t let her.</p><p>She struggles more.</p><p>Her partner looms over him now.</p><p><strong>“</strong>Don’t."  he repeats. "He may be a <em>trap</em><strong>.”</strong></p><p>She stills, the rebuke on her tongue twisting to a gasp. </p><p>Caduceus doesn’t back down, his shield at the ready.</p><p>“Let her go.”  </p><p>The spell in her hand fizzles and the light is lost.</p><p>The darkness rushes in. </p><p>He releases her wrist. </p><p>She pulls back sharply, hissing at him.</p><p>“He may be a trap<strong>.</strong>” He states calmly. <strong><em>“</em></strong><em>I </em>was<em>.</em>” </p><p>A memory, shattered and patched-</p><p>Pieced with holes. </p><p>A woman-</p><p>Blurred.</p><p><em>Warped</em>. </p><p>Like glass in water. </p><p>The light refracting, distorting. </p><p>She has a wild nest of brown hair greying, and kind eyes.</p><p>A small pendant- with four points and two crescents-</p><p>Her soft hand had cleared the trap- the <em>cloud</em> - from his mind.</p><p>She allowed him clarity. </p><p>The chance to escape.</p><p>The chance to be <em> here</em>. </p><p>On a rescue mission.</p><p>The image clears. </p><p><em>Had</em>.</p><p>She <em> had </em>kind eyes.</p><p>Skeletal, paper-thin hands, no longer healed.</p><p>They held four crimson points. </p><p>Eternally still. </p><p>Two bloodied moons. </p><p>Her hair was white now.</p><p>Haloing her sunken face on a bed unworthy of her a few corridors away. </p><p>His fingernails clotted claret with her last remnants of life. </p><p>He looks at them now. </p><p>One is chipped. </p><p><em>His</em> are too. </p><p>Unlike her though, <em>he</em> isn't dead. </p><p>The figure between them all hasn’t stirred in this commotion.</p><p>His hair is white.</p><p>Or was.</p><p>Now it’s dry and straw-like, falling around his head dishevelled.</p><p>Dust, blood, sweat, and dirt dyed it filthy. </p><p>“-does that even mean? <em>Hey</em>!”</p><p>So many bruises. So much pain. </p><p>“-leb! What do we <em> do </em>then?” </p><p>Words filter in and out as he regards the ghost on the floor.</p><p>A deep voice cuts in from the doorway. </p><p>“He <em>means</em> that <em>he </em>was all fucked up in the head when <em>he</em> was in here,-"</p><p>He was right. It had been far too long. </p><p>"-but some lady cured him or whatever then went crazy herself just after <em>because</em> of it.” </p><p>There’s no other sound except incensed breathing, frustrated and upset. </p><p>Far, far too long. He should have <em>known</em>. </p><p>“That’s not a good development,” one supplies. </p><p>He guessed, and ignored. Why did he not just insist anyway?</p><p>“Then how the <em> fuck </em>do we help him?” The other answers. </p><p>All those wasted days. He could have been here sooner. </p><p>Not letting this man waste away to a husk. </p><p>To a ghost. </p><p>To a shadow.</p><p>"We can't risk healing him- or we might lose you too-"</p><p>The shade before him has his head bent low,</p><p>and from this angle</p><p>he can </p><p>see the</p><p>vertebrae</p><p>protruding</p><p>aggressively.</p><p>"But we can't <em>leave</em> him like this!"</p><p>A cord wraps around the neck. </p><p>Voices are talking back and forth, but they are unimportant.</p><p>He reaches forward to unloop it.</p><p>Even the neck is showing signs of blisters and abscesses. </p><p>A chafed burn marks where it had been resting so long- irritated and angry.</p><p>Carefully unfolding it over pointed ears, he draws it from under the tattered shirt. </p><p>It’s an amulet. Ovular and orange, a closed eye painted across it with enchanted magic. </p><p>An identical one sits resting against his own chilled skin. </p><p><em> Nearly </em>identical.</p><p>This liberated trinket holds a sharp groove cuts across it, breaking its purpose and rendering it inert.</p><p>Some serendipity allowed them to find his whereabouts because of <em>this</em>.  </p><p>Cracks.</p><p>More cracks.</p><p>Always cracks.</p><p>Always something left broken.</p><p>To seep through.</p><p>And splinter.</p><p>Fracturing.</p><p>Fragmenting.</p><p>Spider-webbing.</p><p>To never be whole again.</p><p>Unable to be fully mended.</p><p>Irreversibly damaged.</p><p>Never to go back to its intended design.</p><p>Faulty. </p><p><em>Defective</em>.</p><p>Damaged.</p><p><em>Flawed</em>.</p><p>No amount of healing could mend that. </p><p>It was just a patch. </p><p>That had been peeling and slipping away.</p><p>He was always going to end up back here.</p><p>In these chambers. </p><p>These red bricked walls. </p><p>He'd been such a good student.</p><p>Near-perfect.</p><p>Studious.</p><p>Capable. </p><p>Excelling.</p><p>But in the end- flawed. </p><p>And weak. </p><p>A failure. </p><p>Discarded. </p><p>Left to rot. </p><p>Because of a chink in his person. </p><p>Because of a crack in his soul.  </p><p>Because of split seams in his mentality. </p><p>Cracks. </p><p>Always cracked. </p><p>....</p><p>But not <em>broken</em>. </p><p>Not fully. Not yet. </p><p>This place contained him for a long time.</p><p>Crushing him in a stonework maelstrom. </p><p>Brutalising him with divested dignity and impaired intelligence. </p><p>Disabled by disappointment, and dismay. </p><p>But not more. </p><p>Not again.</p><p>Not tonight.</p><p>The figure on the floor was him.</p><p>Tormented, tortured, and shut down. </p><p>
  <em>Something in him shifts, a cog long jarred out of alignment. </em>
</p><p>They had stolen him away again.</p><p>Against his will. </p><p>From all that he loved. </p><p>Abandoning him to the lonely dark.</p><p>
  <em>But now it slots in perfectly into the once-broken machine inside. </em>
</p><p>A third of his life lost to these desolate walls. </p><p>A family charred from mangled memories. </p><p>
  <em>It starts to turn.</em>
</p><p>No. </p><p>He wasn't trapped in here with his tormentors any longer. </p><p>They were trapped in here with <em>him</em>. </p><p>
  <em>A mechanical pulse beats. </em>
</p><p>He knows what to do. </p><p>The pendant is tossed to the floor, useless now, and he marches to the door.</p><p>“Give him a healing potion. We need to move,” he orders. </p><p>A strong-willed woman holds sentry there-</p><p>arms crossed, face more serious than he’d ever seen her. </p><p>He meets her steely gaze with a steady one of his own.</p><p>Whatever she’s looking for, she doesn’t find it, and those eyes flash accusing and defensive. </p><p>His face remains unchanged. </p><p>Her mouth twists to speak, but a noise down the hallway catches their attention.</p><p>A paladin is jogging back up, signalling.</p><p>She thinks better of it and steps aside,</p><p>pushing past him into the cell. </p><p>He doesn’t register the gasp, or the string of curses she spits. </p><p>He’s too busy taking slow measured steps down the corridor. </p><p><em>The fork in the wall- <br/></em> <em>that crooked, dividing crevasse-<br/></em> <em>he takes the left path now.<br/></em> <em>And it leads him southwards. </em></p><p>So he marches.</p><p>Left. Right. </p><p>Left. Right.</p><p>Left.Right.Left.Right.LeftRight.</p><p>He’s striding. </p><p>Striding past the other two cells. </p><p>He’s marching. </p><p>Marching beyond the reach of his teammates. </p><p><em>The crack turns another corner, guiding him. <br/></em> <em>Directing him.<br/></em> <em>Focusing him.<br/></em> <em>Honing him.<br/></em> <em>He follows. </em></p><p>At the end of the corridor is three bodies stomping his way. </p><p>They are armoured, armed.</p><p>A shield strapped to one arm. </p><p>A spear in the hand of another. </p><p>A bolt already wizzes in the air.</p><p>It scrapes his shoulder.</p><p>He only falters for a moment.</p><p>There’s battle cries, from the patrol. </p><p>A crossbow reloads. </p><p>Two break rank to reach him. </p><p>He won't let them.</p><p>His hands are moving-</p><p>fingers motioning in a practised dance. </p><p>They won’t reach him. Not in time. </p><p>Dropping to the floor,</p><p>two bloodied hands <em>slam</em></p><p>into the emotionless stone.  </p><p>Power seeps through his lungs-</p><p>expelling out from his hands-</p><p>like spider-webs- (One)</p><p>and shattering glass. (<em>Two</em>)</p><p>The Fire Waltzes. (<strong><em>T</em><em>hree</em></strong>) </p><p>The columns they form are torch-like and <em> devastating</em>. </p><p>He doesn’t leave enough of them to be identified. </p><p>He feels the heat convexing around him - as an oven, as a <em>kiln</em>.</p><p>The gurgling screams cut off as quickly as they start-</p><p>into a choked crackle.</p><p>They echo like he remembers. </p><p>The underworld always did have the better acoustics.</p><p>Two crumble to ash, only their metal pieces and breastplates still intact.</p><p>A new ringing rattles through this labyrinth as they land, clanging and settling. </p><p>The other, once a woman, holds in charcoaled stasis only a few inches from him-</p><p>one arm uselessly outstretched. </p><p>He feels <em> alive </em>for the first time stepping onto these grounds. </p><p>
  <em>The machine is whirring and churning, the rust peeling and flaking off. </em>
</p><p>The deep breath he takes is ashen and choking. </p><p>
  <em>It spurns the mechanism faster. </em>
</p><p>He feels like his old self again. </p><p>But improved.</p><p>Unrestricted.</p><p>Recalibrated.</p><p>Reanimated.</p><p>Refurbished. </p><p>Repurposed.</p><p>Redirected.</p><p>Reborn.</p><p>Elsewhere more screams rise. </p><p>Prisoners alerted, rattling their bars and cackling their joy. </p><p>His man-made candles have drawn attention in the snapping dark. </p><p>And now the sanatorium <em>wakens</em>. </p><p>An hourglass turns, and the red brick dust starts to spill. </p><p>Not long before he's drowning in it. </p><p>There are sounds behind him,</p><p>a clambering and clatter.</p><p>Foosteps, familiar.</p><p><em>Allies</em>. </p><p>He stands, lifting one hand. </p><p>Like an artist admiring his work,</p><p>fingers ghost over satisfying textures,</p><p>and <em>incredible</em> shadows. </p><p>He reaches for the heart.</p><p>Where it might have been.</p><p>The pillar of ash and cinders collapses in a soft flutter-</p><p>like snow in a gentle flurry. </p><p>The sounds are closer,</p><p>demanding his attention and irking his mood. </p><p>They are multitudinous and overlapping.</p><p>Berating and harsh whispers. Gasps and-</p><p>Shock. Protests. Questions. </p><p>Oh, give him <em> peace</em>.</p><p>He is swung roughly around, facing six others. </p><p>“<em><strong>B</strong></em><b><em>ren</em> </b>.”</p><p>His eyes snap up, blue and electric                                  </p><p>to the owner of the voice. </p><p>She has dark tan skin, and a severe expression. </p><p>Over her shoulder,</p><p>a tall monochrome woman carries -</p><p>a limp, dishevelled body. </p><p><em>Seven</em> others. </p><p>Right. They were on a mission. </p><p>Retrieve the hostage. </p><p>Eliminate any in his way. </p><p>The rest of his team look … <em>distracted</em>. </p><p>Distraction was a pointless endeavour.</p><p>Interrogating him was a pointless endeavour. </p><p>Standing still was a <em>pointless endeavour.</em></p><p>Yet they prattled on. </p><p>The stone crumbs were spilling. Flooding. </p><p>Could they not feel it, piling at their feet? </p><p>They had to escape <em> now</em>. </p><p>Had they not understood?</p><p>Did they not listen to his warnings?</p><p>Getting in was the <em>easy</em> part of this operation.</p><p>Fleeing and disengaging was going to be aggressively more difficult. </p><p>But they care too much for the ashen remains behind him. </p><p>Being drowned by those red granules. Spilling. Counting. </p><p>Someone else goes to speak, </p><p>but new encroaching disruptions cut them off. </p><p>Time had run out long ago for a stealthy departure.</p><p>They were fighting their way out now. </p><p>He says as much. </p><p>His unwavering stare is met with uncertainty and flickers to behind him. </p><p>Their enemy was on their way, </p><p>there was no time to question methods of disposal. </p><p>Footsteps are pounding closer.</p><p>No one protests now. </p><p>Bren turns to face the oncoming obstacles. </p><p>He is spearheading the infiltrators</p><p>And bracing against the oncoming flood.</p><p>He readies to part the water. </p><p>When he hears them close to rounding the corner-</p><p>he dips into his pouch and </p><p>slaps two scorching hands together. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Outbreaks and Breakouts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><i> Many </i> apologies. I know I don't have a particular posting schedule but I do also realise that I was posting very frequently. Unfortunately life blindsided me this last week and I was left unable to really write as a result. Forgive me any rustiness as I work up the momentum again from previous chapters. As always, you are an <i>incredible</i> readership that I'm humbled to have gathered for my wee fic, and can't even tell you how much your feedback and comments mean to me. You're amazing &lt;3 xxx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Beau didn’t know what tasted more wrong- the remnants of ash in the air or harsh bark of his old name on her tongue. </p><p>It <em> worked </em>though, that was the most upsetting thing. He had snapped up to attention, all determined focus as soon as she yelled it. </p><p>She didn’t know what happened to him, or <em> when </em> it had happened, but the Caleb she knows would <em> never </em> have so callously <em> incinterated-  </em></p><p>Well. <em> No</em>. That’s… that’s not true. </p><p>He would. </p><p>He has.</p><p><em> “Part of me </em> really <em> likes the way fire feels.”  </em></p><p>The Sour Nest was one of the few times she’d seen this side of him- this facet, this 'personality'. His cowardice and cautionary movements were abandoned for bold frontline fighting and devastating outcomes. <em> That </em> was when people he had barely known a few <em>weeks</em> had been kidnapped. She too had felt that same, dire, consuming rage and grief fresh from Molly’s murder- but this was <em> Essek</em>. He was <em> more </em>to Caleb at this point than their friends were back then. She’d seen their developing relationship - their studious glances and eyes alight with nerd talk and magic shit. And then his realisation a couple weeks ago that Essek was in the hands of his old institution? </p><p>She thought his snappish demeanour was down to fear of coming back here. Y’know, stress and shit. But it <em> wasn’t</em>. The frightened-but-going-anyway Caleb she would have expected was benched for someone older, someone <em> devastatingly </em>more capable and calculating. </p><p>Now they were <em> really </em>getting to see Caleb from before- when he wasn’t even Caleb. Before, all those glimpses and occasional times he put his foot down- they were nothing. His minor outbursts at the Xhorhaus a couple of weeks ago? Nothing. His agitated temper on the road? Nothing. This… this was none of those. This was a man detached, wholly compartmentalised. This was the real man trained by Ikithon over a decade ago emerging forth. One who would torch three unnamed people just for being in his way to blackened crusts. </p><p>The others- they didn’t understand, or were too horrified to realise yet just how far <em> gone </em>Caleb was. Only half of them had witnessed his (<em>slight</em>, she’s now seeing) regress at Shadycreek. </p><p>Now they <em> all </em>get to experience it tenfold. </p><p>She stares, cobalt blue eyes to ice-cold panes. Her image only goes as far as those blank irises, her reflection bouncing right back to her unabsorbed. He peers right back, matching her intensity, but seeing nothing. There’s no recognition. No familiarity. She can see how he does in this moment- they’re just bodies to him right now. Tools to get Essek out. </p><p>Even <em>then</em> she wasn’t even sure he’d really <em> seen </em>Essek. More like he’d stepped inside, evaluated his target and left, satisfied it had been acquired. No... no tender reunion, no surprised gasp like most of them had done. Fucking nothing. How was it so possible to turn off your own emotions like that?</p><p>Then again...this <em>was</em> the persona that had been convinced to actually commit familicide. . . He… he never made it to that point for nothing. He’d heard Caleb speak in fear and frantic worry about the capabilities of Scourgers, hell she’d seen damage dealt first hand by one imprisoned for fuck’s sake. </p><p>What could a fully unleashed one in their midst accomplish-? Of course he was scared, he knew exactly how precisely devastating they could be. </p><p>She peers round briefly to stare at the dissolved and ashen piles behind him. </p><p>He was right on the cusp of no return. </p><p>And still their friends’ objections rang around them. Their protests and cries of alarm fell on deaf ears as the clatter of another patrol echoes in the corridor ahead. </p><p>They had three choices- left to a corridor full of cells, right (where they had come from at least and knew a way out) or ahead- where the advancing trouble was coming from. </p><p>One of those choices was swiftly taken from them when Caleb - <em> Bren </em>- states that time has run out. Before she can stop him he’s already turning, pulling something from his belt and slapping his hands together in that familiar gesture-</p><p>She scrambles for his shoulder, a harsh cry of “<em>NO! </em> ” tearing from her, but all she manages is to knock his aim a little higher up and it’s not enough to <em> prevent- </em></p><p>The spell jets forward dozens and dozens of feet like a thin streaking needle. The line cuts up the dim shadows it threads through until at some unseen signal it erupts into a pyrotic mass of buzzing destruction.</p><p>Her attempted intervention was for naught as they hear the sickening screams of the guards who knew nothing of their oncoming end. The heat reaches them even from here and most turn and wince from the light and blaze. </p><p><em> He </em>doesn’t. </p><p>Her hair blows back from her face feeling as though she’s walking through that lava citadel courtyard all over again. The stone bricks ahead buckle loudly against the sheer force of the explosion and Beau <em> swears </em>she catches a spherical imprint momentarily embedded into the ceiling, the floor, the walls, the bodies- </p><p>All but one of five guards topple- smoking, steaming, <em>stinking</em>. </p><p>The last still stands. Blown backwards into the wall where the corridor turned a corner, but not downed, one figure cracks forward like a mangled puppet in a rusted dance.</p><p>The helmets don’t cover their faces here, so with her keen eyesight Beau has full view of the liquifying, caustic aftermath  Dulled teeth are on full display pulled wide in a mocking grin. Blood spouting from toothy gaps in heaped clots. From its peeled back lips, she hears a gasp- a choke, a <em> chitter </em>dry and broken. The nose is sloughing off cartilage over its boney chin as she watches, biting back bile. </p><p>In a grotesque display of repulsive tremors, the walking corpse lurches forth through the fallen remnants into the caved floor and displaced slabs. It collapses to its knees, arms held up in an abhorrent display of surrender, shaking in a sickening rattle. The cruel jitters jolt the heated armor pieces fused to its skin in an awful metallic jangle. All the while the soul just whimpers and whines. </p><p>
  <em> Whizz--- </em>
</p><p>A crossbow bolt to the eye ends all motion- the fluid popping out in a loud squelch in a haze of gorey, steamed splatter. The body stills mid-motion and the arms stop shaking that death rattle. Morbidly, the arms and hands are still held up in that screaming, conceding pose completely fused in place. It sways, and then finally topples with the rest.</p><p>There’s no time to react as a new sound covers all. The tunnel collapses as the ceiling- concaved and displaced - crumbles mercifully on the charring grave. Dust kicks up in a fresh wave of nauseating stench that travels their way before settling to reveal a closed off path. </p><p>Beau can’t turn around, can’t look away. Her hand is scrunched into a white-knuckled fist in a handful of grey cloth and the patrol that would have killed them is now dead with one less way to be followed from and she <em> gets </em> it the fucking plan makes an awful, fucking <em> horrible </em> sense but did it have to be so goddamn fucking<em> barbarous-? </em></p><p>She doesn’t wait for an answer to whomever she was thinking at because one shaking fist has already swung the murderer around and the other is decking him hard across the face. He takes it, neck snapping to one side with a <em> crack </em>and she’s already pulling back for a second - her other hand still holding him fast but then he rights his face and meets her eyes and-</p><p>He’s <em> letting </em>her do this. </p><p>That cold distance in his eyes is still there, <em> completely </em> unphased by what she just did. By what <em>he</em> just did. By how they just <em> died</em>. By <em> his </em>hand. Somehow it’s hardened into an immovable, stubborn mask. One that she’s only seen a glimpse of once before- in well deep below Asarius. </p><p>Little did she know that back then hadn’t been the day they all feared. </p><p>Today was.</p><p>No fiendish, seductive voice in his ear was ever going to replicate what these walls and halls could do to him. Have done to him. Is <em> still </em>doing to him. It was chewing and chomping away at the Caleb she knew, threatening to leave this inhuman character before her in his shadow.</p><p>He’d completely shut down- he hadn’t even cried with a yelp or anything when she battered him. He took it, expected it, and <em> returned for a second</em>. She could already feel the graze across her knuckles where she’d glanced sharp cheekbone and rough, scratchy, unkempt stubble. He knew how to take a punch, this version. </p><p>This wasn’t her friend. This was a complete, fucking stranger.</p><p>Caleb would have collapsed, or whined. Cradled his face with an injured look, curling in on himself. He would have chastised her, swearing in Zemnian and yelling her name like he does. He would have done... <em> so many </em>other things differently<em>. </em> </p><p>She should have seen it when he took off his coat earlier tonight. Tied his hair back tight and proper, not a single strand out of place. When he hadn’t made fun of her at any point on the journey. When his hand never once reached for her shoulder. When he was ramrod straight and barking orders. </p><p>The perfect little soldier. </p><p>When he went into the cell for the sole reason they were here and barely so much as looked at him without a second glance. When he manhandled Jester. When he strode past Beau to turn the corner to outright <em> murder </em> three others. She had rounded the corner just in time to witness it. She realised too late that he wasn’t just stepping outside the cell, but she’d been too horrified by the complete state of Essek that she was distracted and Caleb was already so far and she’d sprinted past Fjord ignoring his warnings because her brother was now out of sight and oh fuck that flash of light is too familiar what if he’s fucking <em> hurt </em> she’ll never forgive herself and then she barely dodged a rogue crossbow bolt for fuck’s sake and then he was dropping to the floor oh <em>shit </em> was he hurt-? </p><p>No. <em> They </em>were the ones charred to crisped husks in a moment. <em>He</em> was absolutely fine. </p><p>And then he had reached out to touch the one just in range of him, and it crumpled away like burnt paper. </p><p>Caleb would <em>never</em> have been so dispassionate, so heartless to not feel for someone killed like that.</p><p>God- had he looked like <em>this</em> when his home was burning? Barely a teenager with this same, detached blank look in his eyes? Listening to the screams of his loving parents until it finally broke through to him the awful shit he just committed-?</p><p>
  <strike>(Is that what it would take now? Who out of them would be the final ringing screams to break through? Would it take <em>all</em> of them? Or was it hopeless and too late?)</strike>
</p><p>What did this place- the fucking <em> Assembly </em> - <b>do </b> to him? This wasn’t a healing facility or recovery sanatorium at all. It never had been. It was a kind-sounding name slapped on the front of the Gates of Hell. Inside, the keepers of the chains were the ones helming the most lauded magical organisation <em> in the fucking country. </em> How did they inadvertently steal <em> two </em>of their wizards in one fell swoop?</p><p>They’d found <em>one</em>, and were going to rescue him fully- but how the <em>fuck</em> were they going to get Caleb back from these dark clutches? The answer lies somewhere behind those flat, cold eyes. She hopes. </p><p>Beau relaxes her stance, pulling cramping fingers from scrunched tunic. She hadn’t even been aware that Fjord and Jester had leapt to grab her right hand, still aimed high ready for another swing to prevent her from doing so.</p><p>If - if this <em> was </em>the day she feared, could she follow through on what she said in that deep, damp cavern?</p><p>Could she- could she <em> kill </em>him? Is that truly the only way to free him from this dark hell still holding him prisoner in his mind?</p><p>She doesn’t find out now, because he strides away having untangled from her grip. </p><p>“Stay <em> alert</em>. We need to keep moving.”</p><p>No one moves to follow and Beau’s anger thaws into dread. Her hands swing limply by her side and there’s nothing between her and the path of destruction left behind in his stead.</p><p>“Wait.” Yasha calls across, one of the few able to use her voice in the wake of such an offensive act. Her word is spoken strongly and loudly enough, in a manner almost ordered, that <em>Bren</em> stops to listen. </p><p><em> Fuck</em>. </p><p>“Essek isn’t doing well- something’s not right.” Jessie and Cad are nodding solemnly, throwing Essek concerned glances between frightened and severe ones to Bren. </p><p>Beau had only seen a brief look at him in the cell and god he was <em> so much fucking worse </em> in the torchlight of the corridor. </p><p>He was already a slender guy, they’d see him un-mantled in his house, and theirs. He wasn’t particularly fit, but neither was he meaty or plump. He was almost Caleb-esque except Caleb now showed toned legs, chest and arms from travelling so long while eating relatively well. It was particularly evident tonight given his straight lines in his tunic and high-neck shirt. The coat really did a fuck tonne to soften the image of him, huh. Also with his hair tied back, even with two weeks of beard, his jaw cut a sharp harsh line, matching his nose. </p><p>She was seeing him in an entirely new light tonight and realised what a fucking force he really could be reckoned with. She'd seen him pull some shit in their time together, but apparantly that was the tip of the iceberg. No wonder Trent sought him out and trained him, he was downright fucking lethal and now he <em> looked </em>it. </p><p>But <em> Essek </em>didn’t look good now. No longer was he a perceived bastion of floating impenetrability. Now he was a limp sack of sorriness and wincing pity in Yasha’s massive arms. He’d lost weight he really couldn’t have afforded to lose, gaunt shadows cutting across his face like blades. His skin - a deep, dark purple was now made sallowed and more sickly with bruising and beatings. Lips that usually housed a quick retort, smart remark, or smirk were now parted and chapped. Furthermore, and most grotesquely, were the pustules and bulbous boils sprouting from under his tattered shirt and unbandaged arm threatening up his neck. </p><p>They were <em>ugly </em>motherfuckers. She’d never seen anything like them- not in person or in any old books she’d been forced to study. It’s like they were <em>alive- </em>like some dark fucking leeches latching on and the fluid under the larger ones was fucking <em>moving-</em></p><p>Beau turned to spit- regretting it when she got a lungful of dust, ash, and remains. </p><p>She could hear his breathing- it was <em>bad</em>. She didn’t know too much about whatever the fuck plagued him, but it wouldn’t be hard to guess that shit was on his lungs too. It was an aggressive disease whatever it was.</p><p>Jester beat her to saying it out loud. “And- and we saw two <em> oth</em>er people in the cells with very <em> sim</em>ilar-looking symptoms.” God Beau hated hearing her so upset and distressed. Watching her absolutely fucking lose it and beat down the door was a sight to behold, but it seems to have used up her strength and anger as she settled down to regular Jester. That brief interval when they were separated were fucking <em> stressful. </em> She still feels awful having tackled her to the ground earlier. And now, Beau notes, she's leaning heavily on one leg as she talks.</p><p>Seemingly unconcerned by this though, Jester continues to briefly describe her time when they were away, mentioning a man and an old woman. Beau catches a hesitation about the woman, something she’s not saying, but she doesn’t push. Now’s not the time. Caduceus agrees with Jester’s assessment.</p><p>“There’s something here, they did this to him deliberately. Nothing about this feels like a natural infection. Is there a reason for this you can think of?” The question is thrown at Bren, who still stands with his back to them having stopped a few feet down the right-hand corridor. His acknowledgement of the enquiry is the tiniest tilt of the head in their direction. </p><p>He faces forward again, looking about for <em>something</em>. The corridors here mostly looked the same, the only reason Beau and the others caught up to Jester, Caleb and Yasha was because of Caduceus’ Wildmother spell thing locating Essek’s general direction. </p><p>But Caleb. . . <em> Bren </em>had been here before. He had a bit of an advantage over them. </p><p>“Yes. There are... <em> medical </em> facilities below here.” A frost crystallises at the top of her spine and creeps its way down at the way he spits the word ‘<em>medical’</em>. Every drawn-out syllable of the way it left his tongue in utter disgust implied that whatever it was, it was <em>not</em> an altruistic hospital. Even in this persona he still finds <em> something </em> inhumane. Some fucking cruel sprig of hope <em>that </em>is. </p><p>“Will they have antidotes?” Jester squeaks.</p><p>“I don’t know. But it’s in the direction we need to go anyway. I know where it is. Follow me, and <em>stay </em><em>alert</em>," he reiterates.</p><p>He starts off again, legs longer than she recalled striding confident, marching steps. His back is straight as an arrow, and his arms swing in tight tandem.</p><p>Like a good. perfect<em>. soldier</em>.  </p><p>Veth walks past her, crossbow reloaded, but she isn’t looking to where he storms to. She’s staring dead ahead at the crumpled pile of brick, stone, and caved-in dirt, before silently turning the corner to follow. </p><p>Caduceus moves past, patting Beau on the shoulder, and Yasha moves after him- Essek cradled limply in her arms. </p><p>Gods, <em> Essek</em>. </p><p>The state of him in that cell- she can’t get it out of her mind. A fresh wave of nausea rises as Yasha pulls ahead. He reeks of filth and other torrid scents, but she can’t fault him <em> that </em> for fuck’s sake. She can’t fault him <em> any </em>of this as much as she may have wanted to at first. </p><p>He- he was a <em> war criminal</em>. She’d <em> said </em> that. He deserved to... to pay for that, right? But she- this <em> wasn’t </em> the punishment she had in mind. She didn’t know <em> what</em> she wanted him to do or pay with- but she knew now this definitely <em> wasn’t </em>fucking <em>it</em>.  </p><p>And it wasn’t just the <em> obvious </em>torture- the isolation, the darkness, beating, the starvation and dehydration. It was whatever that disease was growing under his skin, bursting forward in those abhorrent little black-and-blue balloons. </p><p>Something had been <em> done </em> to him, <em> deliberately</em>, and he wasn’t even coherent to recognise him. Given Caleb’s warning of the woman from before. . . she wondered. . .if it was maybe the same. Given his reaction to Jester...maybe. Damn. </p><p>With a moment of introspection, she thinks she maybe partially expected him to be up and <em> helping </em> his own escape. Maybe in need of some quick patch-up healing, but otherwise ready to go. He was <em>powerful</em> and hoped to maybe see some of that in action- they’d probably need it. But… but the people here that run it… they’d completely stripped him of fucking <em> everything</em>. Just like they had Caleb. For eleven goddamn <em> years</em>. </p><p>Was it really so long ago she and Nott sat with him in a crooked bedroom in Zadash while he spilled the worst moments of his life? Those broken pieces of fractured times and worse dealings?<em> God. </em></p><p>He had been terrified even then, hiding away for fucking <em> years </em> on the run, barely surviving, barely living. He <em> never </em> wanted to come back to where he’d been trained, where he’d been held. To where he’d been manipulated and abused. He hadn’t even recognised what it was until it was too late, and even then, broken free of his captors and false memories and brainwashing, he still calls himself a <em> disgusting person. </em></p><p>But he’d been so fucking <em> young</em>. </p><p>The age she was now, he had been gibbering in a cell or room somewhere in these very fucking grounds salivating and unaware. Such an image <em>killed</em> her to imagine. Caleb was <em>so</em> smart and clever always on the go in his mind. To think of him mentally scalped and stripped of that- she - she <em> couldn’t</em>.  And even then he would still remain so for a few more <em> years</em>. And this was after already having been in here for maybe just half the time he ended up ‘admitted’. She tries to think forward a few more years, imagining day-by-day passing in these halls or the ‘home’ above for that length of time, deprived of all that she was and is...</p><p><b> <em>Fuck</em></b>. </p><p>For a brief moment she trades Essek’s image with a more scraggly, hobo-Caleb and the nausea climbs her throat to a choking gag once more. </p><p>And yet he’d <em>still </em> come back here. No, he’d <em> led </em> them here. The research, the travel and the route, the infiltration plan. He’d done it all.  Helmed it all. Pushed it all. He had done it all fucking <em> knowing </em> what went on behind these walls- what he’d suffered. What he’d been trained to <em> do</em>. Both sides of this despicable coin. </p><p>Could she have done the same? Knowing that there was a possibility of being trapped here, imprisoned, captured, dying, tortured, re-brainwashed, any of it- could she bring herself to return to the place she lost a third of her life to willingly? </p><p>She doesn’t know. She hopes so. For a friend. For someone she cared about, and loved. But she’ll never find out. She doesn't fucking <em> want </em>to. She- what if she ended up like Caleb? </p><p>What if she didn’t. </p><p>They’d really followed him down here, this dangerous stranger, trusting his direction and words without second guessing. Why would they, it was supposed to be <em> Caleb </em>in that skin. But instead Caleb had been hibernated away, surrendered to the ready assassin now storming the very lairs he trained in. </p><p>There’s a sick fucking poetry there she hopes she gets to share with him one day when this place is torn to the ground and the Assembly a heaping fucking <em> shitpile </em>in history. </p><p>Caleb-Bren, whoever the <em> fuck </em> was leading this right now was the only thing, the only person who had even a sliver of a chance of getting them out alive. He had better memory of the routes taken, of the direction to go, the blueprints- old as they were- in his mind. They <em> needed </em> him. She - she couldn’t get Caleb back now. Not when they needed Bren. She abhors his methods and attitude but fucking hell if they weren't effective. <em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>If it’s not one wizard, it’s the other. Goddman <em> fucking- </em></p><p>Something catches her eye amongst the armour on the ground. Grimacing, she moves to crouch and part the bone fragments and … and <em> teeth. </em> It’s a necklace. An amulet. One she’s see before. On Caleb. The cord is completely gone but the stone remains intact, and cold to the touch seemingly unaffected by its previous owner’s fate. She snorts in a sarcastic derision. They’ll be needing plenty of these now, all of them. Top of the Academy’s hitlist if and when they find out who broke in. She pockets it and spares a quick glance, toeing the rest of the remains in case there’s others. She can’t see any. </p><p>So she trudges off, last in the group to catch up and not willing to be separated again. Fjord spares her a disturbed glance and she mirrors it right back. Keeping an ear out for any more potential obstacles, they follow the Scourger in their group through the maze of claustrophobic halls. </p><hr/><p>The left hand route from that crossroads, now ignored and unexplored, <em> will </em>eventually host some traffic in oh, five or ten minutes time. An older gentleman, more decorated than the three guards he strides with and donning a bristled mustache will reach the junction only to see a cooling pile of destruction. He eventually investigates the crick cell- only to find a broken down cast iron door at the end of the hallway and shattered chains. </p><p>Calculating, <em> quietly</em>, he orders for the unlocking of the other two cells in this lone block. </p><p>But The Mighty Nein don’t see this, for they are closing in on an underground laboratory. </p><hr/><p>Curiously the door is unlocked. </p><p>It’s a bit of a wing this area, they’re told by their ‘guide’. As they travelled through the labyrinthine corridor, it only took them four twists and turns to arrive, attempting to stealth along on-edge and listening out for any more interruptions. She thought she recognised the route they had taken, until the man at the front took a sharp left and the architecture shifted dramatically. </p><p>What had been rows of cells of static sizes and lengths, some audibly occupied and others not, the corridor melted into something less square. The roof became curved, arched and crumbling. Still made of stone but less defined, like it was built before the rest of the dungeon. The red brick gives way grey moss and long angled sheets of riveted metal pave the way to give a level floor. Their careful footsteps still give a tinny echo.</p><p>As they travel a little closer within it becomes evident that this was some sort of retrofit, possibly still undergoing renovation given the support beams visible and sheets hanging skewed. The fact that Caleb remembered its whereabouts even so many years on told the tale of how long it had been here, so it was curious to Beau that it was still being refurbished. </p><p>She <em> had </em>been there when Fjord found the nearly three-century-old documentation on this place, so perhaps she shouldn’t be too surprised there was still some remnant of its former, initial design. </p><p>She wonders how Caleb knows of this place… Given that he said his memory time here as a ‘patient’ was shaky and spotted, it’s not hard to draw the other conclusion of why he’s familiar. </p><p>It leaves her feeling even more unnerved that the already tangled knot in her stomach reminded her.</p><p>He leads them round a curve and she realises that one wall is more textured than the other. Like this was the outskirts of the underground domain. </p><p>The door is two-wide, and curiously more modern than the corridor composition. He motions for stillness and quiet, before approaching to listen in. </p><p>Beau keeps to the back, eyes trained between the front of their group and behind them, She <em> really </em> didn’t like that curved corridor. The darkness between the sconces and torches converged at that rounded corner and it really fucking <em> freaked </em>her out. </p><p>But then they’re moving, the whatever-the-fuck-this-was declared empty. </p><p>Except it wasn’t. </p><p>She's last, but just before she enters she sees a second, similar pair of doors just down the way. One last cursory glance behind reveals nothing, so she steps in.</p><p>Still motioning for absolute quiet, Caleb-Bren moves through the ward. </p><p>There are beds. Flat cots and bunks lining their way like some sick, dormant guard. Or at least their linen tombs. Maybe ten or twelve in total. </p><p>Some of them are even occupied. The sheets draped over them are sunken in unnatural ways, but the bodily outlines are clear. Was this a fucking <em>morgue</em>? Most of them are short-adult-humanoids. If it wasn’t for the occasional pointed ears barely visible at the rounded heads, she would have said all straight up humans. One nearby has a cuffed hand dangling out from under the sheet. It’s a dark, inky blue, deadly thin, and covered in those same pustules. </p><p><b>Fuck </b> <em> - what-? </em></p><p>She has to look, she must. Caleb is leading the horrified rest of them along, Jester is wide-eyed and one hand subconsciously held out like she wants to heal, but Beau is investigating. She has to. Watching her feet as she moves, she spies that the floor isn’t even wooden or stone- it’s tiled and ceramic. And slightly <em>angled</em>. There’s a thin divot line, almost like a curved, shallow gutter travelling from wall-to-room-centre just under the bed. A quick glance reveals similar near all the other beds around her. They meet in the middle, where a long thin grate travels the length of the room from the door they’d entered right up to the back. It reminded her of the bathhouses they’d visited except far, <em> far </em>less luxurious and more utilitarian. </p><p>For catching fluids. In a <em> morgue</em>. </p><p>What the <em> fuck</em>. </p><p>There’s nothing else in here, no shelves, no drawers or desks. Just twelve beds, seven of them occupied, and a drainage system.</p><p>No one could stop her, she was at the back and everyone else was looking forward. So now, having carefully stealthed her way across the tiled floor without notice, she pulls back the sheet of the first one on her left-</p><p>The skin- it’s drow-dark and stretched so tightly over her skull she’s surprised it hasn’t snapped apart. The pustules decorate over her face so heavily that it’s pulling and sagging the skin to the side in some places. Her hair, once probably a full head of it, now bare wisps ghosts her scabbed scalp. </p><p>Beau’s eyes travel across the face in a horrified, efficient glance, trying to glean any new information. She seemed to be further along in the process, the disease, the whatever-the-fuck this is. The pustules aren’t quite as vibrant and have taken on a dull, murky sheen. It’s fucking wretched, seeing how more of her skin is <em> that </em> than epidermis. It covers her shoulders, her neck, probably her back too. Her upper arms, and all she can see from where she pulled back the cover was her chest- also blotted in these cursed boils. </p><p>What’s worse off is that she’s still <em> breathing</em>. </p><p>Beau barely manages to cover her mouth in horror to stifle the gasp, flinching away from the creature before her. There’s already bile coating the back of her teeth and she feels the acidic surge threaten once again. This wasn't a morgue- it was a fucking <em>ward</em>. </p><p>At Caduceus’ suggestion, they had folded Essek carefully into a cloak in an attempt to limit contact. Yasha had stepped in after Beau had fled the cell after Caleb to scoop him up in a bizarre swaddle. </p><p>They didn’t know if he was infectious or not with whatever the <em> fuck </em> this is. But Beau… she had built up such strengths and immunities. Via her ki she was able to purify and rid her body of such poisons. If it <em> was </em> a poison. She found it <em> really </em>fucking bizarre that Essek was rotting away in a cell with the same symptoms when the only others she had seen with the same irregular manifestations lay in this unguarded ward. </p><p>But...Jester had mentioned a tiefling and a human. Why weren’t they here? They didn’t sound as developed, maybe? And- and how would they have passed it along if they were in cells? This didn't seem the type of place to hold prisoner getogethers and parties. The guards probably weren’t paid enough to stay here in the height of a plague, and yet there were still plenty of unaffected, uninfected, unbothered sentries and soldiers… None outside had seemed anxious. The ones they subdued when they came in the first floor were laughing and jovial. The whole atmosphere screamed not-plagued or quarantined. </p><p>Which meant it probably <em>wasn’t</em> contagious. She looks around at the limp hand she saw before.</p><p>Then...this was- it had to be manufactured. <em> Right</em>? She doesn't have enough information to say. </p><p>But she <em>could</em> get some first hand knowledge... </p><p>Risking a glance to the party still slowly advancing up the ward centre and finding no one having noticed her lagging, she reaches out and presses two fingers in a spare space at the drow’s temple. Closing her eyes and breathing in that stark chemical smell and lingering decay, she mingles their ki.</p><p>In a moment so small it has no name, she sinks deeply into the body. It pierces gently through sinew and flesh, down through the vertebrae and nerves. She is a needle, threading and weaving deftly through the frail fabric of life and energy. She reaches and reaches, her arm buzzing with that electric intent and extends her ki forward, sinking her mind and self into the limp figure laying before her. </p><p>Beau thinks of kis in colour. Hers is a vibrant teal-blue, bright like lightning and clear as the tropical waters of Nicodranas. It’s fast and reflexive, sharp and striking- strong and dependable. Exactly what she needs to break through blunt defences. When her ki reaches out to this poor soul- it almost misses. In that black void of a wasted body barely on the last threads of life, she finally finds a small, weak light. </p><p>It’s dim. So dim she fears she overwhelms it into snuffing out entirely, and pulls back a touch. It flickers and pulses exactly once. </p><p>Sending forth one of her curious lightning bolts, slowly and surely, she makes hesistant contact. </p><p>The small sphere, a microscopic facsimile of what it used to be, thrums and hisses immediately, flaring from lifeless grey to an angry crimson red and Beau feels it <em> all</em>. It’s angry. It’s violent. It’s lethal and deadly- it’s not red, it’s a inky purple- no … it’s a foreboding blue and crushing black.</p><p>In a reverse manoeuvre, it lunges for <em> her </em>and strikes up to her neural core. </p><p>Everything feels wrong in an <em> instant</em>. </p><p>Poison.</p><p> </p><p>             Dark.</p><p> </p><p>    Mould.</p><p> </p><p>                     Decay.</p><p> </p><p>  Rot. </p><p> </p><p>                  Death.</p><p> </p><p>                                Poison.</p><p> </p><p>          Dark. </p><p> </p><p>                      Mould. Decay. Rot. </p><p> </p><p>Death. </p><p> </p><p>Poison.Dark.Mould.Decay.Rot.Death.</p><p> </p><p>MouldDecayDeathRotDeathPoisondarkmoulddecayrotdeathdeathdeath<em> death- </em></p><p>The slick tendrils of the disease climb and wrap up her arm around her heart into her bones along her lungs deep into her gut bubbling churning wrapping curling twisting cutting <em> slicing </em>popping-!</p><p>And let’s go. </p><p>She stumbles back with a sweaty gasp and the world is spinning pulling away from her like she’s looking through a fishbowl like she did when she was a little girl at home and sliding to one side-</p><p>Arms catch her, holding while her head lolls around and around oh <em> fuuuck- </em></p><p>There’s noise but it only makes sense at the end, “-you <em> thinking </em>?” The voice comes through as Fjord.</p><p>Shakily, with help from her captain, she rights herself to standing, and places two trembling hands on her knees, gasping. The sweat drips from her forehead and she watches three droplets splash onto ceramic floor, slowly travelling along that faint angle. She can see the feet of most of her companions and as soon as the world has settled she straightens and walks very deliberately away from the bed, hands wiping her face. Caduceus grimaces as he replaces the sheet over the woman. </p><p>Her neck is sweating, the perspiration carving boiling rivers down her back and breathing is a hard affair. She runs her hand through her hair and it comes back damp. God why is she so fucking <em> hot</em>?</p><p>“It’s-” she gasps out, surveying the other lumpy sheets and knowing <em> exactly </em> what she’ll find. “It’s not a normal disease. It’s - it’s fucking <em> made </em> or something, I don’t know. A fucking- a fucking virus <em>designed</em> to be like that.” She spits, the saliva tasting like puke and she digs her fingers into her hips where they sit now- a poor attempt to keep them still.</p><p>“<em>What </em>?” Fjord.</p><p>“Wh- what do you mean, Beau?” Jester. </p><p>“It’s not <em> natural</em>. It’s a fucking poison or some shit. Tried to infect me, but I shook it off.” She can't stay still. One hand is back to rubbing her forehead. She thinks back on that brief moment of panic, feeling those noxious claws and tendrils wrapping around her- choking, throttling, drowning, releasing…or… or maybe <em> not</em>. Maybe it <em> wasn’t </em> her... </p><p>“Actually-” and she studies the bed she’s next to now, noticing something she didn’t before. “It...kinda… <em> did </em> infect me. Or- or at least it went to…” she walks around and notes a board hanging off the side, near the head. “I was <em> definitely </em>in its clutches…” Other beds sport similar additions. She picks it up, and flicks through the notes. Most of it is in what she thinks is Zemnian, with numbers and science-y shit added. Graphs that had some twisted statistics she couldn’t decipher immediately, scrawled notes and methodical handwriting. . . She peers over the board to the figure whose data was displayed before her, and pulls back the sheet. </p><p>Another drow. </p><p>“It <em> did </em> go to infect me,” she starts again, almost in a dreamlike quality, feeling removed from the ghastly image before her. Surely not…there's no fucking way... “But...but <em> I’m </em> not-” She walks to another occupied bed and pulls back just enough to see a replicated exhibit like the other two beds. Another drow elf. In some suspended state of decay and life, hovering on the brink of death with vile swellings morphing their skeletal states. They all appear to be at different stages of the infection. She turns slowly to the rest of her party. “-A <em> Kryn </em>.”</p><p>The silence hangs for ten agonising heartbeats. She knows. She counts them. One by one they look around the room in sequential disbelief, piecing together what she’d just told them, inevitably reaching the same conclusion she did. And one by one, they all inevitably turn to look at Essek, cradled and ill in Yasha’s arms. </p><p>Except for Caleb. </p><p>He stares at the board still in her hand, and is the first to move to grab a second from a closer bed. He’s skimming and scanning, reading and remembering, flicking the pages and filling the blanks. Beau knows it’s bad when <em> his </em>shoulders droop in realisation, that facade cracking to show even a tiny amount of emotion. </p><p>What the actual <em> fuck </em>is going on here. </p><p>Despite being a cleaner, more put together, <em> tidier </em> sort of place- Beau can’t help but feel like she expects Halas' creature to come through those doors at any given moment. The order, the organisation. The blatant normality of this place? It’s clinical, methodical. It’s clean. It’s <em>kept </em> clean. This is an ongoing, fucking <em> deliberate </em> operation.  An ongoing <em> experiment</em>. On living, breathing <em> people</em>. Or what’s fucking <em>left</em> of them. </p><p>There’s a harsh, sadistic and perverse vibe to this entire fucking room- this whole <em> place </em> - that just gives her big Halas vibes but <em> worse</em>. She wants to get out of here <em> fast. </em> </p><p>Caleb-Bren feels the same evidently. He pushes the notes into Jester’s arms and orders she put them away, they’ll need it. Three voices quietly protest the attitude, but for no reaction from him, he’s already moving away. She startles from her horrified reverie to comply and the group are moving again through the ward, mood nervous. Beau gently passes her board to Jester too with a grimace and it’s pocketed in the haversack. </p><p>There’s doors to the back, a glass pane showing a dark emptiness inside, and a second set of double doors on the right-hand side. She figures it’s connected to the room she saw the entry of in the corridor. Caleb is already there listening and peering.</p><p>Fjord takes point to check out the doors at the back, while the others hover near the side-door. He moves to press up against it to peak in the window- </p><p>And falls right through. </p><p>The door swings shut as quickly as it had opened and there’s more than one startled cry from the group. Beau is already pouncing because what if there’s someone through there someone waiting and it’s Fjord she can’t watch him <em> die </em> again- </p><p>The door is thrown open wide just as she reaches and he steps through. Unharmed. A nervous smile reveals partially grown tusks. </p><p>“Ha- huh. Um,” he coughs. “Em-empty! Just a uh-” he moves aside, letting her view through. “Swingy... doors…” he finishes. The sickly, low ward-light - sourced from high placed sconces- spills into the back room. And reveals an operating theatre. </p><p>Beau had seen one once, part of medical training and learning about anatomy with the Soul. It wasn’t her favourite topic, even if there was a morbid fascination about it. </p><p>A lone table stands in the centre. Above it, a more-functional-than-decorative chandelier hangs deathly still above it, candle fixtures tilted in such a way that she imagines it would focus all on the table. Cupboards and unoccupied worktops lining the furthest wall. A sink- metallic and shining - ran just to the left of the swinging doors. It smelled of hygiene, and care. Of cleanliness and sanitation. Soap. So much <em> soap</em>. </p><p>It was pristine, much like the ward. At first glance, completely out of context, one might think this was a pragmatic medical wing. It had the look, certainly. You’d <em> want </em>to be treated here because it was so clean and well-kept. Except for the fact that the intended purposes belied something far more sinister and inhumane than a typical hospital or place of healing.</p><p>Just another sick, twisted piece in this mangled jigsaw of a prison. One more diabolical reason to tear this fucking place to the ground and the Assembly with it.</p><p>She closes the door. </p><p>The group were either looking at her and Fjord, or glancing to Caleb who started to peek in at the next room, the door seemingly unlocked. </p><p>None but the two of them saw the rest of the ward, and Veth who was stealthing between the beds. </p><p>Neither of them said anything as they watched her carefully pull back a sheet of one of the inhabited beds, and slip an already-bloodied knife between the ribs of the occupant. </p><p>Her face was pulled into a deep, troubled frown as she watched the person lose their last threads of life by her hand without so much as a gasp. With a twist of hand, and a twist at her mouth, she pulls the blade free. And sees Fjord and Beau watching. </p><p>It spoke volumes, Beau would later think on, that neither of them so much as reacted to Veth’s actions. Or that she didn’t seem ashamed of what she was doing. Neither her nor her best friend made move to stop her euthanising blade as she prowled to the next bed and delivered mercy once more. </p><p>Were they fools thinking, hoping, to come in here and leave bloodless? Or at least… only dispatching and disabling those that got in their way if absolutely necessary…?</p><p>Maybe. . .</p><p>Maybe.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Indulgent Apathy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Death was natural- part of the cycle of life and time. It was unknowing and inescapable, an hourglass turned in the universe from the moment a person first breathes until the last grain is spent. Rarely, the hourglass gets flipped upon completion, the amount of vital sand in the metaphorical glass altered to a new figure. Sometimes the death is planned, the owner willingly smashing it to pieces before the intended expiration. </p><p>In his many years of tending the Blooming Grove, both with and without his family, Caduceus had been witness to a number of ends. Old age. Violence. Disease. Suicide. Battle. Accidents. The reasons were varied and wide, no death ever the same. Many seemed unfair, a few even cruel. It was the best they could do as keepers of the Grove to provide peaceful burials to those who had suffered such fates especially. The occasional child was inevitable, even a small handful of babies had made their way to their garden, swaddled in love and grief. Caduceus made sure to take extra care of those particular tiny graves. </p><p>Yes, death was a very natural process, and it was often always difficult. </p><p>And yet all of his years as a gravekeeper and grief comforter could do little to prepare him for the blatant <em> blasphemy </em>happening in the underground of this horrid place. </p><p>Caduceus’ long ears had twitched as he watched Beau and Fjord briefly investigate the back room. He didn’t need to turn around to confirm what Veth was doing. Slicing and piercing flesh sounds the same regardless of race. He was sadly proud that she was doing it. Mercy was always a fine virtue to practice, even in the tragic forms like this. </p><p>Another breath is released in final rest. She was half-way done with her charitable dispatches.  </p><p>Caduceus is old by his friend’s standards, excepting perhaps the oblivious man in Yasha’s care. By his family’s standards though, he’s comparatively young. Despite this fact, it doesn’t stop him from leaning heavily on his staff and feeling particularly ancient right now. </p><p>Too much. This place- it was a little too much. </p><p>Graves were supposed to be deep yes, but also comfortable and compact. This cemetery was wide-stretching and rife with disrespectful life. Each grave was a small stone cube, cold and dark. Earth was warm, and rich. Full of nutrients, creatures, and food. Here was… empty. Sick and unhealthy. Damning. Defiled. Contaminated. No one should be buried to graves this barren at all, never mind <em> alive</em>.  </p><p>The life here was infected with rot within- and he wasn’t talking about the poor souls being hastened to their passing behind him. Whoever runs this place, whoever volunteers and works here knowing what occurs- <em> they’re </em> the rotted ones. And Caduceus is <em> very </em>amenable to cutting and carving out rot like that. </p><p>One more death is kindly delivered behind him. Caduceus asks the Wildmother once more to escort another soul safely into the hands of the Raven Queen. The lack of response worries him- but he prays anyway.</p><p>Beau and Fjord have noticed Veth now, and he watches their reactions closely. Expected horror, momentary conflict and internal debate. In tandem he watches their expressions fall to sad resignation. </p><p>He was glad he had friends who recognised clemency and sympathy in even its hardest form. </p><p>A door creaks and Bren pushes through into the next room. </p><p>Bren. He was a problem. He was getting wilder, bolder. It wasn’t often Caduceus doubted his own judgement, but right now ribbons of regret were winding around him like creeping vines. He was usually happy to be proven wrong in some instances, very flexible with his thinking and influences when needed. He wasn’t stubborn like rock, he was more fluid like water, he liked to think. But right now he very much wished to be right that Bren was necessary for Caleb to survive this ordeal. Otherwise Caduceus would have to admit to himself and the others that people - Caleb included- suffered for nothing tonight. Caduceus is very scared of having to confess that apology to his friends if needed- that he let Bren take over without intervention and the consequences had been avoidable. </p><p>Infused with guilt, the vines constrict just a little tighter. Their source has fully slipped into the next room quietly.</p><p>Jester and Yasha follow, sliding through carefully. His ears twitch at Jester’s breathy gasp. He prepares for more hateful and malignant imagery. Veth finalises her last terminal favour before rejoining them. She avoids everyone’s gaze as she slips past Caduceus to enter the next room. Another gasp. He gives Fjord and Beau an understanding nod when they finally notice he was watching them. Their shoulders droop together. </p><p>He loves all of them so <em> much</em>. It hurts him to see them in particular, two dear friends so in tune and defensive of one another, in silent shared pain and unable to find an immediate answer to fix all of this around them. They’ve come so far. He’s lamentably proud. </p><p>He’ll tell them later, when they need to hear it most. For now they have other pressing concerns. </p><p>Caduceus enters the next room. </p><p>The shocked gasps were for good reasons, it seems. </p><p>A room a little bigger than the ‘ward’ they had just left greets him. It’s faintly lit with false sconces, but still quite dim. Caduceus taps his staff once on ceramic flooring and a warm pink hue casts long shadows. </p><p>The dawn-like light does very little to subdue or soften the apparatus and experiments going on here. Nor does it provide heat and comfort in the noticeably chilly room. It wasn’t enough to show his breath, but he felt his skin prickle in response. </p><p>To his surprise, Veth raises her voice after clearing her throat. “Don’t light a flame in here, it’s a lab and I don’t know what these chemicals are.”</p><p>The smell in here was peculiar. The ward was a slightly sweat-scented aroma, with a heavy blanket of decay and <em> ill</em>. In here was a stark contrast. It was electric, but calm. The aftermath of a lightning strike, almost. But not quite. Something was off about it. It was unnatural at any rate, nothing he recognised. He supposes it was the mix or individual scent of the many chemicals. </p><p>A table with undone straps is in the far corner, unoccupied. A partition curtain is collapsed near it, providing no privacy. To the left of their entrance, in a reverse-L to his right, and lined in two rows just off-centre of the room is several countertops. Their organisation and arrangement denote a methodical mind arranged it. He feels Beau and Fjord slip in behind him, swearing as they too take in the sights. A door to his far left hints a second entrance to the room at the back of the ward. A basic wash-sink stands there, a bar of soap resting patiently. A towel with a damp patch hangs limply. </p><p>Between the sink and flat cot were three long side-by-side blackboards. Five white sticks of chalk stood tall at the far end on the wooden bar lining the bottom of them. They were ready at attention until called upon- except for one broken piece on the floor, fallen and split in two. All seemed the same length, but all used. Rotated frequently for consistency perhaps? Curious.</p><p>Curly writing and equations covered most of these vertical surfaces, and Caduceus wasn’t ashamed to admit he had no idea what any of it meant. Bren was already there anyway, rigidly absorbing it all from two feet back.</p><p>Across from where they entered was a long desk. Well, more a sturdy shelf several feet wide and a couple feet deep with space below for legs and a high-back chair tucked under neatly. Writing utensils and paperstacks lay uncluttered except for a single quill across a blank paper. Pinned articles and broadsheets of information and numbers Caduceus couldn’t read from here papered the wall between desk and cabinet above it. Angled sconces for pointed lighting, unlit, framing it. A study desk.</p><p>No windows in the room, but two vents that he can see high up. Oh, and the same drain in the floor from the ward, cutting through the middle of the room. Curious again. </p><p>Jester slowly goes up the central aisle, peering tentatively in at the experiments, but not touching. Yasha quietly beelines for the table in the corner to sit Essek comfortably down. Veth slinks to the corridor-leading door, listening out. A quick jiggle informs them that the door is locked.</p><p>Caduceus steps left and follows the wooden counter along that wall, with its cabinet above them. Fjord steps right, and Beau stays to take it all in. For such an unassuming room, the various aisles were quite wide for what they are- very comfortable with still yet plenty of room to pace or two people to stand side-by-side with ease.</p><p>All-in-all the chemicals and apparatus on the central benches aren’t too shocking on their own. Veth was building a similar setup in her Xhorhaus workroom on a smaller, less nefarious scale. There were glass tubes and fixtures, metal brackets holding them in place with clawed clamps. Closed wooden cupboards and book-filled shelves lined the wall Fjord veers towards, all above the worktops following it. Various vials and instruments were on neat display on top of those benches in that calculated system. </p><p>The counters Caduceus walks along are curiously absent of anything- an opposing image to its busy perpendicular neighbour. Opening a drawer at his hip revealed carefully cleaned and placed medical utensils and instruments. All pointed up, equally spaced. Immaculate and orderly again. A trend for this room, he’s gathering. He gives the various items a quick peruse. Some- he was almost sure - weren’t even <em> medical </em>tools. He closes the drawer a bit too sharply at that, rattling the contents. </p><p>Yes, it seems on the surface to be a general lab he supposed. But then he looks into the transparent windows of the cabinets he’s aligned along and sees tiers of jars. </p><p>It <em> would </em>be a harmless laboratory, except the jars were hosting floating cuts of skin and sinew. </p><p>They were in some liquid, suspending them in momentary timelessness. Caduceus was familiar with many preserving and embalming agents, preferring salt, but this liquid- some of it yellow, some more clear- was unknown to him. </p><p>The jars were labelled, and numerous. The scrawl was curled and practiced, but illegible to him. Judging by the yellowness of the top left labels however, and following the lightening gradient along, he could guess that they were in order of time ‘acquired’ and ‘pickled’. </p><p>Contrarily the slabs of flesh in the jars got darker. </p><p>The very first ones, with the slightly curled, aged labels, housed light- and brown-coloured cuts. Some occasional red, a light blue or green here and there. A couple of scaled slices interspersed along the rows. And there were <em> rows</em>. This particular cabinet seemed to be assigned to displaying this progression of whatever was being studied. The top left sporting the beginning sinews, and three long rows of about five or six feet were full with side-by-side jars. There were two empty rows below, ready and waiting. Dust-free. The glass was shining, he saw his reflection like a crystal mirror crisp and true. </p><p>This was routinely cleaned. Lauded. Admired.<em> Proudly displayed. </em>It was a trophy cabinet. </p><p>The third row started frequenting night-coloured bits in between the pale strips until the last ten were fully drow-dark. He imagined the corpses next door were missing some chunk of muscle and skin about three fingers wide and three inches long. Less than an inch thick. All the same meticulous dimensions. </p><p>Every. Single. One. </p><p>There was space for a last jar to slot in right at the end. They hadn’t managed a full checkover of Essek, but he <em> prayed </em> that space was meant for him and hadn’t been ‘acquired’ yet. </p><p>A rustling of paper shuffles beside him and he sees Beau rifling through drawers he had skipped. She slaps down some loose pages on the tabletop, squinting to read. He leans his glowing staff toward her and is gifted a small grateful tug at her mouth, and then she’s delving into the notes. Bren has finished consuming the chalky writings, and now investigates the central benches.</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>. This- this is all in Zemnian or something. <em> Shit. </em>” Beau leafs through a few more bits, the writing matching the curled lettering on the jars, before she groans in frustration. She slams them back on the bench, palms flat against the spotless surface and her shoulders hunch up. </p><p>“It is also most likely coded,” Bren supplies without looking up from what he peers at. “Inspect it anyway, it may turn up something useful.” His tone is sharp and impolite. Beau’s fingers curl up, dragging along the surface, but she says nothing, staring at the paper. Caduceus feels Frumpkin shiver a little at his neck. Poor thing had been trembling for the last quarter-hour or more. He gives a little scritch, calming the familiar, and turns to Beau.</p><p>He moves to say something but then she lifts her head and now is eye-level with the morbid mementos. Caduceus holds his words as she straightens and steps back, eyes trailing along and seeing just how many there are. The <em> scope </em>of this experiment. The deliberate purpose it loudly boasts. She is probably following his lines of thought step-by-step.</p><p>“What <em> the fuck</em>,” is her whispered response. He quite agrees. </p><p>Her reaction is very warranted, he finds, because as well as the grim exhibition of carved keepsakes, each of them is sporting some variant or development of the same boils and pustules decorating Essek and the seven next door. </p><p>Many of the early ones look sick, some of the boils burst in the clouded liquid with a greenish pus. Possibly the reason the fluids in those top jars was yellowed and jaundiced now that he thinks about it. As the hideous records advance through time, he can see evidence that whatever was being worked upon was being infected more consistently and faithfully. Partway through the second shelf the colour of the boils change to that ominous blue. A quarter of the way into the third shelf they become spotted with the black eyes swimming lazily underneath. Towards the end, the pale and non-drow ribbons were curiously less affected, or worse, blank. All of the last, most recent jars played aggressive host to that debilitating disease. Proof that perfection was close, if not reached.</p><p>Beau appears to be right. The disease was deliberately shaped and forged to target drow-kind. A weapon of biological barbarism. This room was the anvil, its smith absent. </p><p>Calluses rub against warped wood as Caduceus tightens his grip on his staff. In this moment of realisation and grief he sends a silent prayer to the Wildmother, begging help in understanding and acknowledging such intended, cruel violence. </p><p>His staff lights up a fraction warmer in troubled response. </p><p>“Hey- do we know the name ‘Brueska’? Or- ‘Truscan’?” Fjord’s voice carries over. “It sounds like we <em> know </em> that last name.” They all turn, except for Bren who <em> snaps </em>up to attention. Fjord is setting down a leather journal, a gap missing in a line of similar-sized books on the shelf, and holding up a letter. </p><p>“Yes- <em> Truscan</em>.”<br/>“Dunno the first one but the second...It’s familiar, yeah-”</p><p>Bren and Beau speak at the same time, but the latter gives way as Bren continues on. “Which Truscan do you refer to? Why?”</p><p>Fjord starts and bends low to squint at the page. “Uh… it’s a …fuck this is hard to read, damn Zemnian handwriting-” he takes a moment, seemingly feeling all the attention. “It just says ‘Truscan’ I - oh no, wait- here-! Uh, just an ‘S’?”</p><p>“Sydnock Truscan.” Bren answers, seemingly expecting instant recognition. He doesn’t receive it. “<em>Prime Arbiter of Rexxentrum and the Empire."</em></p><p>The silence hangs. The name <em> does </em>sound familiar, but no face conjures in Caduceus’ mind. The title sounds very official. </p><p>“Oh- oh <em> yeah</em>!” Beau perks up, hands pointing and fingers snapping. She fully turns away from the cabinets, distress blissfully distracted from. “He’s- he was at the uh- the - the castle! After the cathedral! I remember seeing him- He was the, uh- the thin guy right? Next to the king? Fancy-looking fucker. His family run the Truscan Vale! Yeah, yeah I remember now.”</p><p>Caduceus doesn’t know where that was, but it had the man’s name so it seemed he was very important. He vaguely remembers other figures around the King from that day, but his focus had been mostly on Caleb and Yasha- one returned from evil clutches, and the other facing them. Curious repetition they were experiencing in one of those aspects with a polarised result. </p><p>“<em>Oh</em>,” Fjord answers. “Yeah. I totally remember you telling us about the people there afterwards.”</p><p>She scoffs. “Liar,” she accuses teasingly. Jester relaxes a bit with a quiet chuckle, and starts walking away from where Bren had situated and towards Yasha and Essek. The poor man lay on his side on that table, curled in on himself and the cloak around him. His breathing was still labored. Yasha stands guard, while watching the unfolding conversation. </p><p>Fjord puffs up a little in response, “No! I was listening! There was Sydney Truscan-”</p><p>“Sydnock-”</p><p>“Whatever. Him. Sydfuck. And there was an Oliver Screeber-”</p><p>“<em>Schreiber- </em>”</p><p>“Yup, that’s what I said, and uhhh- oh! Your boss, Bordella Fan,“ he finishes proudly.</p><p>Caduceus smiles. This was a good moment, they need this desperately. Veth continues to stand at the door though, uncharacteristically silent and not partaking in the joking. Or the investigation in fact. This was very much her field of expertise so why-? Hmm. Possibly upset by what she did a few minutes ago. Yes, that was likely. Also she was very troubled by the change in Caleb tonight, more than the others he gathers. His eyes wander to look behind her in his musings. He notes three coat hooks on the wall. On one hangs a dark apron, the other a cloak or coat. The third is unoccupied. </p><p>Beau shakes her head with a fond chuckle, ready to correct Fjord. </p><p>“Why- is he in that letter?” Bren cuts across, ending the banter abruptly. Fjord jumps at the tone and his face darkens to a more severe expression with the reminder of their surroundings and ticking clock.</p><p>“Uh, yeah, this letter and I think a couple others-” he motions to the journal. Caduceus thinks he sees a couple of paper corners sticking out- probably filed letters that Fjord indicated. Bren leaves what he was looking at to stride around the table and crossing the distance in a few short steps. He pulls the letter from Fjord’s grasp to scan it quickly, face furrowing. </p><p>“It would appear that the sponsor of this alchemical <em> enterprise </em>is the right-hand-man of the king,” he announces shortly, vocally constraining the anger that his curling fingers crumpling the paper in his grip betrays.</p><p>Oh. Right hand of the <em> King</em>. That’s <em> not </em>good. </p><p>Beau’s reaction is incredulous disbelief and she too is rounding on Fjord and the letter. Bren drops it without ceremony and starts pulling out journals at random from the long line. It’s a lot of thin books, seemingly filled with data and other information relating to this...place. Consistent organisation however. Not his preference though. Too rigid. Too neat. Very little self-expression in this well-kept, often-used workshop. No warmth, or personality. </p><p>Or perhaps it <em> was </em>personality. Something very clinical, detached, cold, matter-of-fact and studious. Hmm. That’s troublesome. But also aligns with Caduceus general feelings about this room and its use. It would have to take someone very emotionally removed to perform and visually brag about such horrific intentions. </p><p>“Need all of these,” Bren states and starts pulling the books forth. He sharply looks to Fjord expectantly. "Give me your bag."</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The <em>bag</em>. Open it. I need the books.” He pauses, waiting for a beat. “<em>Now</em>!”</p><p>Beau rears up behind Fjord, but before she can do anything Fjord has one arm out calming her. They share a look of silent communication and whatever passes works as she reluctantly backs down. Bren watches the exchange with closed passiveness, still waiting. </p><p>Fjord, satisfied that Beau won’t jump their friend, leans round to deposit the bag on the worktop and they start loading the journals haphazardly into the opening. Beau huffs angrily and stalks to the writing desk to investigate, loudly opening the cupboards above it and searching the contents. Whatever affected her in the ward she seems to have shaken off in these few minutes since, but she’s still quite rattled by the ordeal. Hmm. Something to follow up on once they’re out of here safely.</p><p>Caduceus returns to looking around at the lab. </p><p>The benches in the middle were active, or at least dormant between waking use. He follows the path Jester had taken between the two tables, the light of his crystal reflecting prettily off of the glass globes and vials-</p><p>Vials of blood. </p><p>Lined in a neat row in a wooden cradle, several small bottles contained stoppered dark liquids. They were also labelled with numbers. The script matched that of those in the cabinet, but these were <em> very </em> recently scribed. <em> Extremely </em> recently. He opens the drawer in front of him. A rubber hose about a finger thick- no <em>t</em><em>hree </em>different tubes. All an unappealing brownish-orange colour. They were coiled like snakes, ready to siphon, leech, and drain. Three gleaming scalpels lay straight like soldiers beside them, ready for immediate use in a silver tray.</p><p>Caduceus straightens and looks to the limp man in the corner. Jester pushes some of the hair out of his face and wipes away the saliva at his chin, speaking in a soft voice Essek doesn't respond to. She had done the same when they massaged a healing potion down his throat in the cell. Caduceus loves her so very much, and has seen her limping from kicking down the door in her fury. He was so incredibly in awe and proud of her. Fierce as Calliope and wild as Clarabelle while still being so uniquely <em> her</em>. She was holding together well in such a distressing environment.</p><p>But the man she tended to… He can’t see it for the cloak, but Caduceus recalls the pristine white bandage streaked with damning crimson covering Essek’s arm. It doesn’t take much for him to piece together whose blood is likely in these vials. </p><p>Caduceus has to steady himself for a moment. He feels a deep, ugly rage swirling within him, one that he reins in frequently. The last time it had become loose was on the wet deck of a ship after a moment he never wishes to relive. </p><p>Blood can be spilled, yes. By accident or casualty. Naturally through the cycle of menstruation and menses. Even by defence blood could flow. His friends were not perfect people, but they were making definite attempts to avoid unnecessary bloodshed and harm.</p><p>Except one, tonight.  </p><p>Blood can be spilled. There wasn’t much unusual about blood being outside of the body sometimes… except to see such fluid here, so carefully extracted and held, in a manner so <em>perverse</em> that belonged to none of those reasons, belonging to someone he <em> cares </em>about-! Caduceus takes a very deep breath and turns away. Distraction. He needs distraction.</p><p>Veth needs distraction too. All right. Two for one. Yeah. </p><p>“Veth,” he calls gently. She turns to him after he calls again, slightly dazed. He points to the devices and setup along the bench, “can you investigate these please? This is very much your area of proficiency.” He asks sweetly, calmly, with a smile. She glances between him and the door, before nodding and stepping glumly towards him. Not good at all.</p><p>The worktop is a comfortable height for Caduceus- possibly the usual inhabiter here was tall then, more evidence this laboratory was personalised. It also means it was a little high for Veth. She had to strain and tiptoe to get a close look and inspection. As long as it serves to distract and focus her, to bring her back to the present he’ll be happy. He doesn’t expect anything to come of -</p><p>“<em>Hmm</em>.” Oh? </p><p>“Something wrong?” Beau calls softly, hearing the concern. “You found something? The antidote?” She’s clinking and moving things, Caduceus can see a larder of chemicals and components in the cupboard she’s buried in, the desk below it yielding nothing it seems. </p><p>Caduceus isn’t sure an antidote <em> exists</em>. This is a very deliberate weapon being intensely developed here. He can’t see why one would be made. It’s meant to hurt and mutilate, not cure. Swords don’t typically come with bandages and sutures.</p><p>“No…” Veth moves along, squinting and twisting to get a closer look. One expert hand reaches forth to twirl a beaker, adjust a stud, pull a valve. A device he thinks is a fire burner sits cold beneath a wide container. She shakes a flask, the thick liquid sloshing heavily. “I- this is <em> weird</em>.” Her fingers trace along a spiralling metal pipe connecting two globes. Caduceus follows as she walks along lighting her way as she picks up pace and interest.</p><p>“What? What’s weird?” Beau has abandoned her searching, walking over and picking up on Veth’s growing activity. </p><p>“There’s <em> runes </em> on some of this stuff. Glyphs.” She’s scrutinising the back of an empty container. “Like... <em> magic </em> ones. There’s usually a <em> little </em> magic and casting and shit in alchemy-” she moves to another tumbler. “But- but this is a <em> lot</em>. This is some <em>heavy arcane shit. </em>I've never seen anything like it.” Caduceus and Beau share a baffled glance. Veth continues anyway, professional scrutiny increasing. “Alchemy is a lot of component work- mixing, bonding, combining.” She takes a breath. “Percolation, reacting agents, <em> timing</em>, and a bit of transmutation on the side, yeah. But <em> this </em> is- this is just <em> weird </em>.” Her thick brows are furrowed now, eyes clear with concern and calculation as she peers closer. “Beau! Gimme your book I need to write these down-”</p><p>Beau complies immediately, supplying a blunted pencil along with then Veth is throwing open to the to the first blank page to furiously scribble. </p><p>Caduceus leans his staff carefully against the bench to let her copy with decent light, and returns, now calmed, to the vials. One by one he slots them out of their simple stand, unstoppers them and dips his pinky in. He imagines being at home, being on the road, being in a forest, being in a field. Wind blows around him, fluttering his hair. Grassy aromas fill his senses, and birdsong the soundtrack. Mentally relocated to somewhere <em> fresh</em>, Caduceus channels his goddess and sets the blood in the vial to break down as though aged. It thickens, clots into mulch before finally hardening and becoming brittle, dry flakes. No longer shall Essek’s blood be violated and misused. He makes it through three of five vials before a movement twitches his ears- a sort of <em> crunch </em>sound. Like a pestle powdering something against a mortar.  </p><p>Fjord is still sliding the last few journals into his bag- some number seems to have already been deposited. Bren stands reading another, almost as still as a statue, back to the room. Beau leans over Veth, watching as she records the symbols closely. </p><p>Yasha is crouching by Essek, working at the broken manacles in an attempt to liberate him fully with Jester’s axe. They had looked at the bracelets briefly in the cell before having to rush off after Bren and found magically-debilitating invocations inscribed. Given the severe chafing Caduceus had glimpsed, they’d been on since his arrival and probably the reason he couldn’t cast any magic. Jester crouched also, keeping level with Essek, watching Yasha, and just soothing his hair. He imagined it was as much a comfort for her as it was him. She was very tactile like that, probably from her lovely relationship with her mother. </p><p>But that didn’t explain the <em> crunch</em>. Hmm. With a slight shrug he finishes the last two vials, grimly revelling in his work. One less wicked occurence. Needing to get away, he makes his way to the group in the corner. Jester needs that leg looked at. Maybe wash his finger first actually- </p><p>The chalk on the floor is dusted. </p><p>Not just dusted, but <em>crushed</em>. Like it had been stepped on.</p><p>They weren't alone. </p><p>The faintest chalk outline of a footprint faces the direction of the sink. There's not enough chalk to provide a trail. They could be anywhere. Caduceus takes a slow breath as he continues to walk forward. All right. Okay. Right. He needs to alert everyone, before they lose this advantage- but how without alerting the intruder?</p><p>Well, technically <em> they </em>were the intruders, but maybe this was also another?</p><p>What would Beau do. She was clever and good at thinking around problems like this. </p><p>He approaches the women and receives a shaky, tired smile from Jester. He crouches, and indicates to her leg with a now-glowing hand held aloft. Keep it casual. She starts a bit, then sheepishly, painfully, stretches it forward. He cups her knee gently and sends a little alleviative magic her way. The relief is instant. It’s not a total fix, but it should help. </p><p>He’s reminded of a leg he healed in Darktow, a remnant of a plan gone a little wrong but mostly right. They had fun planning that one- </p><p>Code words. Beau would use code words. </p><p>“Fjord,” he calls out, not looking up from his healing. “Do you remember when you first saw Isharnai?” </p><p>“Hmm? Yeah? Bitch had <em> four </em> elbows. That shit ain’t <em> right</em>. Freaked me <em> the fuck </em> out all on the roof like that. Why?” </p><p>“Do you remember how and why you saw her? Because the Mighty <em> Nine </em>of us in here could use a refresher.” He hopes it’s enough. He pats Jester’s knee with a tight smile and looks at the manacles. Yasha has scratched the manacles and runes with the axe, and seems to be making headway in breaking the hinge of one. </p><p>Straightening to standing, he fiddles at his belt for a flask of holy water, and brings it to his lips as though to drink but doesn’t. Better whoever was here thinks it normal water. Yeah. He thinks he may be Blessing people shortly. Keep it casual, keep it casual. Be like Beau. He slouches, trying to look unassuming to their invisible guest. He turns to look and finds three sets of eyes watching him- two are piercing blue and one a striking yellow. Bren and Beau are alert and taut, possibly cottoning on to his warning, Fjord is looking a bit confused. </p><p>Ah. His staff is still over there, providing Veth light. Hmm. “I need my staff, it’s a little dark in here,” he announces loudly. He makes his way over to the bench casually. He meets Beau’s eyes deliberately, trying to silently communicate their problem. Her eyebrows raise just a fraction. Beau half turns to call over her shoulder, not breaking eye-contact with Caduceus.  </p><p>“Yeah. <em> Fjord,</em>” Beau says stiltedly. Her body language suggests wound tension and readiness to leap or run despite her attempts to keep it relaxed. <em>He</em> was being more casual than <em>she</em> was. “Light up your <em>sword</em>, we need some more illumination in here to <em> see</em>.”</p><p>Bren is slipping the journal he was reading beneath his tunic and takes careful, measured steps to the closed corridor-door sternly. His hands hang at his side indifferently, but his fingers are curling, ready to cast. He presses himself against the locked exit listening, before turning and backing into the corner inconspicuously. No invisible person there it seems. Caduceus tries to listen for breathing that doesn’t sound like any of theirs, but can’t really hear over Yasha’s metallic ministrations and Veth’s scribbles. Jester is now watching closely but doesn’t say anything. </p><p>Fjord seems to be catching on and makes an obvious ‘O’ with his mouth. Beau all but rolls her eyes and slaps her forehead as he fumbles to close the sack and hold forth his sword.  </p><p>“Well then, let’s light ‘em up!” Fjord holds it out straight, pointing to the centre of the room, almost aiming at Caduceus, and speaks a spell word. A sheen, not too dissimilar to when Fjord commands the sword for empowerment, lights up along the blade, coming to the point with a silvery-blue glint. Fjord stiffens, and shifts the aim of the the sword a little. He looks very slowly to the corner where the sink is. </p><p>“Hello <em> friend</em>, care to join us?” </p><p>Whatever answer he expected is never delivered as two of the three doors to the room burst wide open and The Mighty Nein are swarmed in seconds.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <i>Everyone roll for initiative!</i>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Junctures and Punctures</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b><br/><i>You bet your ass I got a map and shit for this. </i></b><br/>Map (Not to Scale!!) made by moi with DungeonFog (edited in PS). M9 Tokens (also Not to Scale!) just cropped snippets of the official CR Character Designs by Ari (@Ornerine) on Twitter. Here's where they roughly all are before the ambush round . . .</p><p>This chapter brought to you by DwarvenForge (not really I just miss CR lads T_T)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Chains. Always with the fucking <em> chains</em>. </p><p>She couldn’t escape them, no matter where she went. Even after breaking free of her own, her friends were still drowning in them. <em> No</em>. Not anymore. She <em> refuses</em>. She smashed her own bonds with their help, she’ll break him free just like that too.</p><p><b>No one</b> deserves this hellish bondage.  </p><p>Jester’s axe serves as a crude tool to scar and scab at the manacles around Essek’s thin wrists, but it’s all they have right now. She started by scoring through the markings on them, unsure if it would weaken the metal or not. Or maybe there was a magic lock or something. She couldn’t see a keyhole. It didn’t seem to have any effect after a few minutes of trying anyway, so she switched to the hinges. </p><p>Yasha shifts the limp hands to rest along the flat, unpadded table at a better angle, before carefully aligning the sharp edge and axe point to the hinge screw. There’s undone leather straps hanging off the side of the table and she doesn’t like those one bit. A long buckle on her side informs her that there was also a thick belt made for whichever poor fuck was unlucky enough to be put on here. She winced when she put Essek down on the table, and not for her own pain or discomfort. The symbology was a little too raw.</p><p>She really hopes he was never tied down in here. There was an eeriness to this room that didn’t settle well with her at all, like they were being watched or something. Nothing seemed out of place or messy and that in itself was unnerving enough- and she didn’t spook often. Everything was perfect. Which usually meant nothing was. </p><p>She pulls a swathe of the cloak from under Essek to cover the strap close to her and sets back to work. </p><p>No. More. <em> Fucking</em>. <b> <em>Chains</em></b>. </p><p>It’s like they followed her. The manacles with the gnolls. In the Nest. The fucking <em> Cult</em>. All the way to this hellish prison and on the battered arms of her friend. Well they were going to come off one fucking way or another and Storm Lord help her, it’ll be by <em> her </em>hand. </p><p>There’s activity going on behind her, but she needs to get these off. She can’t stand seeing someone else in bondage. It hurt enough to walk away from the tiefling and old woman, unable to even free them in death from their cuffs. It would have caused too much noise, drawn too much attention. At least they were mortally free, if not physically. Here in this lab though she has the time- for now. She doesn’t really know what they’re looking for anyway to be of much help. She’ll be useful keeping guard with Essek, alongside Jester. </p><p>She is stroking his hair, humming a song or something under her breath. Yasha doesn’t recognise it, but it’s probably something her mother sang to her given its sweet tones. Yasha doesn’t have much like that, only battle songs, warrior chants, and war cries. Maybe she’ll ask Jester to teach her some songs after all this. She could learn them on her harp. Maybe it could wake Essek up. That’d be nice. </p><p>She doesn’t like that he hasn’t really stirred all this time. She doesn’t like how <em> light </em>he feels in her arms for a grown man. </p><p>Her knee protests as she shifts her genuflecting crouch a little for better viewing. The floor is hard and tiled, pushing coldly against her heavy weight as she works. It’s not comfortable, but she doesn’t give a shit at this moment. </p><p>The bolt on the left cuff hinge is loosening, Yasha carefully using the point of the axehead to attack the fixture. One of her hands holds the cuff steady, Essek’s scraped and bloodied wrist laying unmoving within. She almost jerks with too much strength, threatening to cut his already irritated skin.</p><p>She hisses between her teeth as her eyes roam over him once more in disbelief. The state of him… </p><p>The rage she used to shatter the chains in his cell was barely a <em> fraction </em> of what she was containing right now. The rattle as they clattered to the ground like hacked metal snakes, beheaded by her hand, still rings in her mind. Partial freedom never sounded so satisfying and damning at the same time. Will she ever be free of <em> fucking </em> <b> <em>chains</em> </b>?</p><p>Caduceus appears at her shoulder with a nod- she sees him crouch out the corner of her eye all pink and hopeful. She can’t take her sights off the manacles. They need to be off. <em> Now</em>. </p><p>A familiar warm glow briefly lights up beside her, and Yasha can see the depths and damage of the scores she caused across the runes with the axe. She’s reminded too harshly of those dark days in the Nest, wavering in and out of consciousness.... The beatings… Trying to pull them off in her waking moments. She sees similar evidence in hard, cutting bands ovalling around the back of his hands at cruel angles. He must have been hanging by them for days and days for them to engrave so deeply... She might not have been captured for nearly as long to bear such scars, but she had awoken at the foot of Molly’s grave and that was an invisible scar unlike any other she bore. </p><p>She wouldn’t let Essek wake up that way, angry and grieved. He’d wake up free. Like she did. And whole. Surrounded by his friends. Traitor or not, she didn’t care, she liked him and he had asked for help in his own way. She wasn’t going to abandon him. Not today. Not tomorrow. She huffs a deep breath as she works. ‘Tomorrow’ seems so far away at this point. </p><p>No, he won’t wake up like she did. Not missing a part of himself. He wouldn’t be aware of the heavy weights on his body and soul any more if she has her way when he wakes up. Tomorrow. Soon. They’ll be out of here soon. She hopes. </p><p>She found out it was only a few days she was captured, but it felt <em> so </em> much longer. Coupled with waking at Molly's last stand... she needed to spend weeks outdoors to remind herself that she was free. She didn’t know how Essek would be waking up after nearly a month. She had a feeling it wouldn’t be nice at all. But he’ll be alive, and they’ll cope with the aftermath then. She didn’t know how, but they were the Mighty Nein. It’s what they did. The least she could do for now was get these <em> fucking </em>manacles off-</p><p>Caduceus and Fjord speak, with Beau jumping in. Something… is wrong with their voices. Very wrong. <em> Alert-wrong</em>. That feeling of being watched intensifies. It was palpable, in the air like a pre-storm atmosphere gathering in readiness to unleash. Something is coming. Or someone-</p><p>But she isn’t paying full attention because a soft moan reaches her ears and two dim eyes hazily peer at her beneath dark, sunken sockets from the man on the table-</p><p>The hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She tears away from Essek’s glazed expression  and looks over her shoulder to see Fjord point the sword and light it up. </p><p>He shifts to her left. And <em> addresses </em>someone in the corner-</p><p>There’s no answer as noise and action overwhelm them within a moment and she’s up on her feet in an instant. She <em> knew </em>something wasn’t right!</p><p>Two <em> creatures </em> burst through from the corridor and the bed room they entered by- they’re humanoid on the surface but so grotesquely twisted and mangled and bloated they might as well not be at first glance and she rears back in momentary horror-</p><p>Fjord doesn't get the same luxury to pause and evaluate as the one from the ward charges for him, the second slamming the door open hard on Caleb in the corner with an interrupted grunt-</p><p>And then a crossbow bolt flies in overhead of the first one and there’s a spear from under its arm firing towards Caduceus catching his side with a sharp hiss and she spies two helmets behind it - <em> soldiers-! </em></p><p>A third guard with a thick grey moustache barks something from behind the one ahead of her and lunges around that second creature towards Fjord as well- he was being swarmed!</p><p>Veth fires her crossbow with a panicked gasp and it sinks into the shoulder of the Ward-Creature barely hurting it-!</p><p>Fjord is yelping with exertion trying to fend off his primary attacker and Yasha scrambles to throw the axe in her grasp with careful aim across the room at the creature attacking him-! It embeds in its back with a screech and whine but still lashes at Fjord with an overly-long-clawed-hand and <em> saliva </em>flying-! </p><p>Beau yells as she steps quickly between Caduceus and the advancing monstrosity from the corridor, jabbing it in the stomach with her staff, spinning with a flourish to crack across its deformed face but it seems unaffected not even <em> acknowledging </em>the pain and giving a deep, evil moan-</p><p>Suddenly there is a floating, spiked lollipop zooming across the room to Fjord’s aid and Jester has now reared up beside her, fangs bared and a cry of rage ripping from her throat as she points her instructions to her weapon-!</p><p>Fjord screams as slobbering jowls bite deep into his shoulder and neck and he’s all the way across the fucking <em> room </em> - Yasha has her Skingorger pulled free now because she is feeling <em> partiuclarly </em>malicious tonight and charges towards the creature coming at Caduceus and Beau- she needs to get around it to Fjord-! </p><p>She’s feeling <em> venomous </em> as the bottled anger she has about this whole fucking <em> place </em> releases in a fury-filled bellow and carves deeply into the side and stomach of this large fleshy enemy and should- <em> would </em> - normally rip out a fatal chunk but <em> here </em>...</p><p>Now that she’s up close to this one she can see exactly what it’s made of.</p><p>Stitches and stitches and parts and parts.</p><p>Different colours, not immediately obvious in the dim light, patched together like a sick, foul blanket stretched over a bulky skeleton and irregularly inflated muscles. Some of it has bleached so much, paled with time or who knows what the <em> fuck </em> but that shoulder clearly is drow and the ears are just <em> holes </em> and there’s no hair and its lashing and groping with distinctively different, pieced-together fingers with metal spikes for <em> nails </em> in her direction and grabbing for Beau’s staff <em> -- </em> It’s shape is malformed and grievous, back hunched up and torso strong with one leg slightly shorter because it changes from the kneecap down to a <em> clawed foot </em>and its gibbering and growling waterly like something is stuck in its swollen throat-! It’s like a miniature caricature of the Laughing Hand but without the cloak to hide its ugliness and theres no disturbing laughter here just that deep garbled babble right in her face-</p><p>The whites of its eyes are on full display as the eyelids have been cruelly ripped off, the skin over its mutated skull various shades of <em> flesh </em> and a leather muzzle is strapped so tight around its head that it cuts into the wrinkled skin <em> brutally - ! </em></p><p>She gets no more as it shoves her backwards - no small feat - and she bangs her hip into the desk, cracking her head on the cupboards above. Glass jars bang about and rattle threatening to rain on her but don’t-</p><p>A heavy grunt and clatter and Yasha sees a bloody spear drop to the floor as she rights herself. Caduceus turns, stumbling to the bench and grabs his lit staff- he’s clutching his side and with a heavy bang on the floor he gives a deep low bellow- </p><p>Prismatic rainbow flashes fill her vision as buzzing transparent beetles fly and flitter angrily around them all as one turning to converge on the creature beside him with that swarming droning noise escalating. The gruesome thing is that it doesn’t so much react to their presence or gnawing- not even the one amassing on its exposed eyes or up and into the flush gaps it has for a nose and ear holes-</p><p>Another glow emanates from the bloodied hand grasping Caduceus’ side and he takes a shaky full breath of relief-</p><p>Green flashes once, twice- <em> three </em> times at the edge of her vision as she steps around the monster, yanking her greatsword from its flesh with a bloody squelch and little disabling effect. Fjord is pushed violently, pinned against the corner of the counters by the <em> other </em> horror and the older man with a sword stomps towards him weapon raised from the corridor door- it glances off Fjord’s drawn shield and he goes once more for an attack-</p><p>A deep growl is heard from behind her as she rounds the centre worktop to Fjord’s side of the room and she briefly steps back in time to avoid getting struck by a streak of bright fiery anger with a <em> hiss</em>. A single large bolt of it flies past her at incredible accurate speed, singeing some of her more rebellious hairs and impacting into the crownsguard’s back with a sizzling crash. She watches as it scorches up along his armour and under the back of his helmet with vindictive glee. He cries and stumbles, failing to follow through on his attack on Fjord. She stomps forward as Caleb stands to recover from where he was slammed into the wall by the broken down door hands coming down from his spell-</p><p>Two more twangs go off and there’s a new pair of bolts piercing Fjord’s aggressor with not so much as a flinch in its kidney and rib gap. Veth swears loudly to reload and Yasha raises her sword to strike the guard Caleb had struck -</p><p>Yasha’s sword is already swinging down to the guard in front of her and glances across his breastplate as he turns just raising his own weapon in time with battle-earned reflexes-</p><p>Fjord howls brokenly as the creature possessing him by its teeth lurches free and Yasha sees the chunks of flesh and leather and bloody juices coming with it but then she’s raising to parry the guard in front of her whose face is puffed up red with pain and effort striking at her with an elbow to his face-</p><p>“Fuckers <em> can’t- </em> be -<b><em>stunned-</em> </b> !” Beau’s voice rings out in punctuated pieces and she hears the telltale clobbering of flesh-on-flesh as Beau lays into the horrific target Yasha just left- she needs to help <em> Fjord </em>! Caduceus is beginning to murmur, the lollipop makes for one brutal slash down its back ripping open skin and again it barely reacts- </p><p>“Immune to being held too- <em> shit</em>!” Jester cries out, angrily! “Hang on, Fjord!”</p><p>Something sharp cuts through Yasha’s hair, just grazing her neck and tangling in her mass of braids and yanking her head backwards with rough force- she reaches back to pull a silver-tipped bolt- </p><p>The murmuring she hears comes to a loud climax as Caduceus finishes with a pulse of faint light around him but then- </p><p>“They’re not <em> undead</em>!” He cries, shaken, still breathing heavily she can hear. The moustached man is pushing down on her; he’s not as tall but he’s well-trained and strong and the sweat is beading across her forehead as she fends him off! They’re not undead? These things are <em> alive</em>? There’s a familiar ‘pop’ and she knows if she turns to look she won’t see Caduceus in sight-</p><p>Fjord cries out attempting to break free from his cornered position but the beast is too strong, leaning on him with its full grotesque bulk. A loud crackle of cold crystals begins to crawl across his chest- he grabs the creature’s sinewy forearm and invokes his curse-</p><p>Her blade screeches as it forcibly guides the man’s longsword away from her in a half-circle to the ground with a low grunt, scraping the tiles with a lengthy shriek. Beau cries out as she’s thrown into Yasha’s vision beyond the counters and smashing back-first into that cabinet of glass with a winded yelp-</p><p>Jester cries out with a sickening gargle across the room and three heads swivel in time to see an arc of blood leave her throat all at the hand of a tall man wielding what Yasha recognises to be a boning and <em>amputation</em> knife from her <em> hunting </em> days pulling away from her neck with a cruel grin plastered across his face- who the <em> fuck- </em>?</p><p>“Jester!” two high voices ring out, but Yasha has her arms full with this fucking <em> guard- </em>Jester gives out a shrill scream that cuts off with a grim gargle and Yasha hears the splintering of an icy rebuke bursting forth from her-</p><p>Yasha crashes forward as a searing burn hits square in the middle of her back, knocking her into her opponent just as he takes the brunt of two more missiles- she swings around angrily to recover her balance to find Caleb closer now with two hands outstretched and a face like thunder not caring he just hit her with <em> one- </em></p><p>“Jessie!” Veth is calling out pitter-pattering and scrambling on top of the worktop behind Yasha and glass shifts and scatters with her footfalls firing another bolt or two to the opposite corner of the room now but one must miss because the sound of metal impacting into stone echoes around them as it ricochets dangerously skidding to a non-fleshy halt somewhere- </p><p>Like a stack of plates dropped from a great height, the cabinet Beau was thrown into shakes with violence throwing open its doors in protest and bombarding its contents noisily onto the floor with wet cracks and smashes onto the woman collapsed into a ball on the floor waiting for the fragmenting barrage to end and it’s so <em> loud </em>- </p><p>It’s overwhelmed by a chomping snarl as the creature on Fjord flinches back from frozen retribution and the glassy cacophony continues over it-</p><p>Each jar smashing is like a new irritating needle stabbed into Yasha’s skull as she hears it- deafening and increasing- and Jester is wrestling her assailant and Fjord is unable to scramble away from his gnashing trap and Caduceus is now one-on-one with the other creature and there’s still two guards readying their attacks and Caleb is- </p><p>Enraged, she lets out a thunderous roar seeking to rally herself through the scalding pain and with a full body turn <em> cleaves </em> into the guard beside her, sending the body careening into the counters beside them, sweeping across whatever instruments or shit lay on top but she doesn't care because she is <em> pissed- </em></p><p>A rogue crossbow bolt narrowly misses between her and her the monstrosity and she sees the other two guards rounding on them- no, <em> one </em> is unsheathing a sword to go for Beau who’s carefully manoevering to standing on the ground amidst a barbed field of sharded glass that’s only just finished forming and fuck knows what else <em> that </em>is amongst it all-</p><p>The one with the crossbow stops her approach as she sees Yasha’s attention on her but reloads with shaky fingers as Yasha goes to advance but then Fjord is yelping in severe pain and the creature on him is lashing wildly again with its own muzzle hanging loosely off an attached elf ear that doesn’t match its dark scaled cheek- she has to <em> help </em>him - </p><p>The lollipop above hangs idle above not doing anything but she can’t <em> think </em>about that right now- </p><p>A hissing snarl cuts off as Beau fully rights herself amidst her precarious terrain, with <em> fucks</em>! and other curses, nearly slipping just out of the corner of Yasha’s eye but she manages to get enough footing to leap out of that dangerous puddle into the startled range of the sword-wielding guard and give a punch to his ribs and chin with pained cries before he can strike- </p><p>The monster on Fjord rears back, dragging him with and then forcefully charging Fjord brokenly like a ragdoll against the counter so hard it collapses inwards and whatever containers or whatever the fuck was in there shakes with the disruption and Fjord is bending backwards into it too dangeorusly for her liking-</p><p>The woman Beau wrestles lands a hit as Beau gives a loud complaint- </p><p>Caduceus yelps as he’s rounded back against a counter- a hand splayed wide at the advancing hulking horror descending on him unleashing a ray of <em> black </em> energy over it- </p><p>Veth is still crying out for Jester and she can hear Zemnian muttering behind her - there’s scared cries from their clerics- and a gleeful laugh from that opposite corner that <em> chills </em> her- and the beetles are still buzz-buzz-buzzing and it’s increasing in a rising frequency- now the horror before her is snapping at Fjord again with that mess of <em> teeth-  </em></p><p>Her fingers curl dangerously tight around the sword hilt. </p><p>Fjord vanishes from the creature’s grasp as Yasha plants her feet wide- he appears behind her, panting shaking gasping breath hitched with <em> pain- </em> </p><p>Someone is calling for help behind her in the room but she can’t hear over her blood pounding in her ears and the beetles <em> buzzing - </em></p><p>All comes to a diminished silence for three <em> seconds </em> as a watery cough ends with a strangled choke and Yasha turns to find a dagger hilt-deep in Jester’s gut as her hand that was pounding on the man lashing at him suddenly falls limp and the bloodied fingers holding her neck wound from gushing falls free to her side and there’s dark liquid spluttering out of her mouth head lolling breath juttering eyes rolling backwards to see <em> nothing </em>-</p><p>Yasha sees red and raises her greatsword with fury begetting her, anger possessing her at the abhorrent nature of this creature, of what its suffered, of what its did to Fjord, of what Beau suffers in a field of glass, for Caduceus who wrestles the other alone, for Essek lying limp in the corner and Jester under acute attack from someone else without <em> help </em> and her strength lies with her <b> <em>friends </em> </b> she needs to fucking <b>HELP </b> <b> <em>THEM-</em> </b> <b>!</b> So she brings her crude and ugly sword <em> down </em> with such <b>aggression </b>  and <em> fury </em> that it cuts c l e a n into its <em> warped </em> spine through thick hide and tattered leathered flesh sundering it nearly in <b> t w o</b> but its not fucking <em> enough </em> so she lurches forward keeping that blade embedded as <em> deep </em> as her shaking arms allow calling forth to the Storm Lord keeping watch so high above these dark dungeons and light crackles through her from her eyes down her strained neck tendons along the taut fibres of her trembling biceps and stressed forearms right to her cramping fingers and long the disfigured blade to strike deep into the <b> <em>heart </em> </b>of this abomination-</p><p>It curls in on itself with a cruel length howl seizing and contracting violently as thunder and lightning take hold of it inside and out but Yasha only cares for this creature’s <b>blood </b> and takes several brutal yanks to try to free her blade from the bone and sinew of this walking <em> offense- </em></p><p>Her blade is buried so deep into the twitching, snarling, thrashing creature that it meant she had <em> nothing </em> to parry the newly drawn shortsword as the arbalist gets bold with Yasha’s momentary vulnerability to attempt a well-placed blow - she scrambles for Jester's axe still embedded in its back but won't get it in time and the shortsword is descending quickly-</p><p>But it doesn’t get <em> anywhere </em>as Caleb rounds past Yasha’s heaving body to reach two pinched hands forward outstretched and she watches in muted gratitude as a cone of fire sparks from his fingers to fully engulf the guard advancing on her- </p><p>As well the growing pool of liquid escaping the destroyed jars on the floor catching the other guard a few feet behind-</p><p>The shrieks of horror as their clothes and skin alight are nothing compared to the quick alarming realisation that the pooling liquid soaking the guards’ feet is also flammable. </p><p>And that Beau is drenched in that shit right beside them. </p><p>The gratitude rapidly mutates into revulsion and devastating fear-  </p><p>What was once a dimly lit laboratory becomes an focused chamber of brief raging inferno as the three figures in his cone light up like a bonfire, blinding all who looks for a moment before it settles and diminishes as though immediately extinguished to a glowing flickering blue glass-sheen dancing across the floor and sputtering out.</p><p>She’s momentarily reminded of vinegar and tangy spiced vegetables as the odour accumulates in an invisible cloud around them and she’s hacking, eyes stinging-</p><p>The ward doors barrel open as two burning figures stumble and cry through it, patting themselves out and yelling-</p><p>Veth is screaming, unloading her crossbow with fear anew, and Beau is howling with flames licking up her coat as she disappears through to the next room in blazing panic- the guards are keening, smoking, choking and one follows Beau with blistering screams- </p><p>The creature used as Yasha’s temporary sword sheath cackles chokedly, spitting blood up onto Fjord who scrambled forward for his <em> own </em> sword- knocked to the floor out of his hand- and then Dwueth’var is skewering through the crooked jowls of the beast and she feels Caleb moving around towards the screaming arbillest no longer advancing on her as Yasha now pulls her sword free, because she’s instead is clawing at her own burnt <em> face-  </em></p><p>And the people screaming on fire in the next room or the anguished huffs coming from Fjord and the gurgling creature nearly split in two sinking slowly to the floor as it twitches and claws weakly-</p><p>The lollipop, razored and angry still does nothing but bob above them idly and her fury overwhelms her fear swiftly as the creature that’s weakly grabbing and dragging for her ankles spits one final time when her misshapen blade plummets into the neck crevice and swiftly bringing it to a crawling, messy halt. </p><p>She turns to deal with the woman who was coming for her, but finds Caleb already in her space and puncturing through the neck with the same long needle-like dagger he used to deliver mercy to the old woman from before-</p><p>The body crumbles to the ground with a muted gargle as he unsheathes the blade from her throat-</p><p>A harsh yelp catches her attention and the bespectacled man has descended behind Caduceus- Jester no longer in her sights oh <em> fuck</em><b><em>! No!  </em></b>She meets his dark glassy gaze as he slices into their other cleric’s neck artery <em> deep</em>, twirling his scythe-like knife with his other hand to sink deep in between his ribs- </p><p>Teeth bared, breathing heavy with that stinging scent on the air she hears the screams die down in the next room, brief fiery light flashing through the gap as the swinging doors settle in place and the chemicals on the floor are still alight but they’re not <em> raging </em> anymore just dancing that blue fire lightly as the liquid is burning up - but now Caduceus is caught in a choking grip from the other beast, barely injured from her first otherwise grievous carve and his pale hand slaps down on it in a wild flail- and he's being skewered and sliced upon by this <em> butcher- </em>!</p><p>The creature’s arm crackles with black veins from where a pale hand clutches it tight as Caduceus bloodily spits out a spell and the beast screeches in reaction- </p><p>Fjord is already pushing past her with angry, ragged breaths, uncaringly stepping over the unmoving body of the older guard she took down earlier, and rushing with three determined flashes of retaliatory green pulses at Caduceus’ assaulter over the central tables- they all hit on target, each one searing a hole deeper into its upper back and shoulder until muscle is exposed with a sickening hiss-</p><p>Veth is scrambling, firing a bolt into the creature’s neck as she scurries backwards along the counter in a panic before she trembles so bad the crossbow misfires on her and she tumbles to the ground hard-</p><p>With a crack of her neck and shift of her shoulders, Yasha runs and leaps on to the counter near where Veth fell off, the surface quakes with her hefty landing and then she's kicking the apparatus out of the way with those keen cracks and smashes to approach the creature from above and behind. A vengeful cry escapes her as she rises the sword high, scraping along the ceiling as she does causing sparks to cascade around her in a vengeful halo as she swings down-</p><p>The thin man yells something and the monster rears its head back just as Yasha surges off the worktop, blade comes <b> <em>slamming </em> </b>down from behind her high angle giving her what should have been a deadly advantage but it twists with advanced warning as the blade glances along the skull, down the cheek and cutting into the shoulder rather than caving in its scalp… and in doing so she also accidentally slices off the muzzle. </p><p>The clamping trap of teeth the other monstrosity had was <em> nothing </em> compared to this one. Fjord yelps when he sees as he rounds the counter, breathing heavily and his left arm <em> drenched </em>in dripping blood. </p><p>Larger in size and bulk, this monstrosity seems to have undergone further mutation than its lesser sibling. Lips stitched back in a twisted smile reveal <em> rows </em> of sharpened razor-like bladed teeth ready to tear and <em> shred- </em></p><p>The ferocious beetles are whipping around and on Caduceus’ attacker in inflamed frenzy, their sibilating hums churning to a high pitch as they now go to fill its mouth and it gasps and splutters unable to stop them climbing down its throat but doesn’t cease in his aggressive motions- </p><p>Yasha’s sword rears high again, intent on severing choking claws from limb as Caduceus clambers a hand on her target and then there’s darkening shadows where he touches the creature’s skin-</p><p>Caduceus starts to look a little less purple after that but his legs still kick and flail uselessly and this thing has lifted him from the ground she hadn’t even<em> noticed </em>that-</p><p>His hand pulls away just in time as she rounds down and <b> <em>carves </em> </b> into the forearm of the lumbering aberrant- hacking through tissue and deep into bone. It doesn’t react as it had with Caduceus spell but the grip fractures a little- but not fucking enough to <em> release </em>him- </p><p>Fjord is by her side now, slicing his sword clumsily across its exposed side where her wound from earlier lies open, leaking a stinking <em> pus- </em> his second swing misses entirely as he wobbles dangerously with a groan- </p><p>Fuck he was <em> waning</em>. Jester was down, Caduceus incapacitated- Veth was behind her panicking, Beau in the next room on <em> fire-  </em></p><p>The beast ignores Fjord’s attempts to maim as it brings those gnashing jaws upon Caduceus-</p><p>Whose shield deflects just in time with a grunting jolt-</p><p>Yasha’s breathing heavily with effort, her arms trembling and head ringing and she’s sluggish with exertion unable to immediately halt the slinking man behind Caduceus as he brings the boning knife deep into Caduceus collar -</p><p>A <em> pah! </em>surprises her and the attacker both as a small puff of cloudy smoke releases where he punctures down and she fears for Caduceus in that moment when he moans mournfully but -</p><p>A firebolt cuts through her vision, just missing the creature to slice past all of them and careen straight into the shaken cabinets above the writing desk. </p><p>She watches as though time itself slows as the blazing bolt <em> smashes </em>the glass panes and explodes the shelves, upsetting it all and the concoctions, materials, and various vials and flasks all cascade in a deadly rainstorm. </p><p>The resulting puddle is mutinous and reactive- bubbling acidicly dangerously <em> badly </em> as more is added <em> - </em></p><p>Fjord attempts a leap away but slips on the pouring liquid and he crashes to the cold floor with a bone-crunching clatter-!</p><p>She leaps back in fright but not in time. She’s immediately overwhelmed with a dizziness and nausea that causes her to collapse to her knees, vision swimming breathing hard lungs tightening and tripping on a discarded spear- </p><p>Rotten eggs, swampy gases, brimstone, vile creatures- she smells it all to the point of white blindness and splitting headache immediately-</p><p>Her throat swells shut and she knows nothing more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Let me know if you'd like another Map Update showing position of *everyone* at the start of next chapter or if it's just clutter &lt;3</p><p>Fun fact, this chapter is exactly six (6) rounds of combat I know I have the spreadsheets to prove it. </p><p>Also... *ooft*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Here at the Gates of Hell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p> </p><p>The wind escapes him in a violent rush as his back, shoulders, head- all <em>crack</em> off of hard floor in a graceless collapse. Reality escapes him for a brief moment as everything resets and his vision goes white. Somewhere in his mind he knows danger is around- a cracking of glass- a cry of - and <em>shouting</em>- the coughs- the <em> fumes-! </em></p><p>It's enough to jerk him into action and clumsily pull himself over onto his stomach to drag away from the choking cloud and he's drowning all over again but he will not die he's not going to fucking <em>submit</em> this time- </p><p>It takes effort for he’s not a slightly-built man, and with one arm fucked up- he has to <strong><em>move!</em></strong> Eyes water, nostrils burn- eardrums ring and his heart pounds-!</p><p>His fingers fumble and hit a solid block- a corner! He clutches it, nails dragging along aged wood as he pulls himself around almost slipping in the chemicals flooding the ground. His breeches and cloak soak it up but he doesn't care as he drags crawls pulls hooks his way around the corner. Twice he loses friction as his uninjured hand slides through his own slick blood, but he powers through until he breathlessly sits up with his back to the counter. </p><p>Somewhere he hears pouring liquid pouring- seeping, down in a heavy trickle. His mind conjures a brief image of a pitcher pouring into a metal bath. </p><p>Fuck. </p><p>Fuck fuck <em> fuck </em> <b>fuck</b>!</p><p>His sword-</p><p>He tiredly looks to his left. Dwueth’var lies abandoned a few feet away by the wall. Out of arm’s reach. He’d have to reach across and put himself back in the line of fire.To emphasise the danger the fumes creep forward into his eye line. Keeping his back to the counter, he clumsily he shuffles right on his ass to where the air is marginally cleaner but fucking <em> stinking </em>of burnt flesh-</p><p>God, <em> Beau- </em></p><p>His ribs constrict and restrain his next few breaths as the wound in his shoulder, the claw marks along his side- all of it com<em>pounds</em> into short, rapid gasps of air and the dizziness intensifies. His empty hands clutch the injuries, willing them to cease hurting. They were fucked up <em> big </em>time. He leans his head back desperately against the surface, screws his eyes shut, and silently calls for help from the only person still within his reach. Two tears escape the corner of his eye.</p><p>A warm calm emanates from his fingers and the grievous overwhelming stench briefly takes on a briny quality. Familiarity fills his nose and a distant crash of lapping waves soothes his ears. Where his fingers clutch his blood-soaked shoulder, a pinching sensation of knitting skin tugs from underneath. A little uncomfortable, but far better than the sharp pains from just before. It was enough to stem the blood flow, for now. But they were still in trouble. </p><p>The momentary sensation of lingering lips on his temple stutter his breathing and his eyes flash open. He’s not sure if the green haze is drifting fumes or something- someone- else. He can’t <em> quite </em>focus on it- </p><p>A little more clarity granted to him, and a silent wave of thanks to the heartfelt gratitude, Fjord pricks his ears up. </p><p>There’s people coughing- no, <em> hacking </em>up their lungs; Caduceus, Veth. Even Caleb. Yasha was silent- </p><p>Oh god. </p><p>A bang and clatter from the ward alerts him- sounds like fighting. He’s never been so grateful to hear Beau in trouble before. His throat feels scratched internally, and so fucking <em> dry. </em></p><p><em> Shit </em>. Smarting and stinging, Fjord hears more movement- the golem. A string of Zemnian penetrates Fjord’s dizzied senses and he hears a thump- as though a body dropped to the ground. Terror strikes at him for a second when he hears the creature move and fears to see a gruesome limb step around the corner with metal teeth and deadly hands- </p><p>Across from him, having slid off the worktops where he was discarded by Yasha, was the older guard. Pale eyes stare upwards at nothing, a trickle of blood bubbling slowly from his mouth. With his still-settling vision, Fjord swears the eyes flicker to him with silent accusations of <b> <em>coward- </em> </b></p><p>But he doesn’t <em> know- </em> the creature! He didn’t <em> see-  </em> and what if it comes this way? Fjord’s <em> done </em>for. He doesn’t want to <em> die </em>again-</p><p>An orange amulet spills out from the armour- he <em>knows</em> that amulet- but then there's movement somewhere behind him-!</p><p>His chest hurts- from the fumes, from the pain, from holding his breath listening to the footsteps-</p><p>But it goes to the back of the room, following the still-talking man. He wants to look, wants to peak but to alert them to his status and position-? </p><p>“Nei- <em> nein </em> ! <b>NO-</b>” It’s Caleb- choking out between retching- </p><p>Fuck! He needs to- <em>shit!</em> He lunges for the necklace, tearing it off the man's throat roughly. It rips off with effort, the cord split in two. </p><p>“Put him down, you ugly fucker!” A bolt- no <em> two </em>, shoot off and Veth spits as she coughs.</p><p>Jester’s axe. He sees it now sticking out the back of the disturbingly-still monster that had barreled Fjord into the counters what felt like an eternity ago. He crawls over for it, taking three weak pulls to dislodge it and - taking a regretfully deep breath- hastily shoots up to view the room. </p><p>His vision wobbles for a moment but settles quickly enough to see-</p><p>The man- wearing what probably used to be a clean white coat, now splattered with blood, stalks at the back of the room past the chalkboards where Fjord had first seen him: invisible and skulking (observing)- and the large creature is right behind him. </p><p>A limp Essek is held roughly in its arms. <em> Shit! </em></p><p>He takes a wobbly aim, closing over his slowly swelling eye and drawing back his uninjured arm squints at where they’re walking towards but <em> don’t hit Essek-! </em></p><p>A figure leaps up in his line of fire, red hair falling out of its careful tie and bringing arms up above him then drawing one back as though aiming a bow. He ‘releases’ and from his curled fingers, Fjord watches a sleek line of angry bright green fire launch to where Fjord was aiming for. It smashes into the wall just inches from the presumed target, and the bespectacled man hisses, shielding his face. Angrily, he turns to Caleb and speaks out in Zemnian again. </p><p>Fjord sees him survey the room by the way the dim light reflects off his lenses.The fumes blocking exit to the corridor. The shattered glass field blocking quick and safe exit to the ward. No easy way out. </p><p>But if what Fjord saw earlier was right then the room he’s going for leads to the ward anyway. He was going to flee through there- taking Essek with him.<em> Fuck! </em></p><p>“He’s going through the ward! Don’t let him escape-!” Fjord cries out brokenly, breath hitching on every other word as his side compresses with protest. He’s not sure if Caleb heard him- there’s no acknowledgement as he clambers at his component bag- </p><p>Veth’s loading her crossbow again and swears- “Fuck-!” She looks around wildly and Fjord lowers the axe just as he sees Caduceus’ body collapsed- slowly being swallowed by the spreading cloud and near an unconscious Yasha- her horrific sword limply discarded like his own. </p><p>“Shit!” He runs around the counter, bumping past Veth who’s hurriedly fiddling at her belt and charges for Caduceus. Holding his breath only helps a little as his exposed skin, and wound especially, singes and stings causing him to nearly cry out but he has to move <em> Caduceus-  </em></p><p>“Hey fucker! What did the doctor say when I told him I was a pair of curtains? ‘Pull! Yourself! <em>Together</em>!’” She stresses each word of the punchline with a stamping boot as she climbs up onto the counter Caduceus lies along.</p><p>Fjord doesn’t hear any maniacal laughter or insane giggling so can only assume it failed but <em>does</em> hear Veth yelp. A slight <em> whizz </em> and a clatter of steel on solid surface rattles in the corner Fjord just vacated. A thrown knife. </p><p>Fjord eyes up the cloud, it’s venomous, toxic. Deadly? Who the fuck knows. He doesn’t want to find out. He sees the source of the dripping as the puddle melts through the grates lining the middle. </p><p>Two deep inhales of not-quite-as-venomous air, he holds his breath and charges in, grabbing Caduceus by the collar of his breastplate. In any other circumstance this probably wouldn’t be so bad, but Fjord’s left shoulder is fucked <em>up</em> and has to pull most of the firbolg with only his right hand. Luckily, Caduceus is slender by Firbolg standards and he is silently fucking glad that he’s not having to heave a Pumat Sol - size cleric. Sonuvabitch was <em>built.</em></p><p>He manages to drag Caduceus a couple feet away, just out of the danger zone of where the chemicals are mixing, though the scent is still absolutely fucking <em> rancid</em>. The breath of air he releases is warm and unpleasantly tastes like dust and bile. He thanks his stars he grew up a sailor and knows how to hold his breath for diving as he lays Caduceus down and pats him on the cheek worriedly. </p><p>“Come on, come <em> on</em>!” </p><p>He hears a commotion and painfully twists to look over his shoulder only to see Caleb with a long needle-dagger in one hand (where the <em>fuck-?</em>), readying to climb over the counter- when the ward doors burst open and a <em> very </em> blackened, charred Beau charges in, all fury and anger and <em> grabs </em> Caleb by his tunic, dragging him to the ground and kicking him swiftly in the side-</p><p>“You <em> fucker! </em> You could have <em> killed </em> me! I’m going to take your <em> fucking </em> spell book and shove it-”</p><p>Her staff connects with ribs and Caleb grunts-</p><p>“BEAU! THE- THE GUY- THE UGLY FUCK! HE’S GOT <em> ESSEK-!” </em>Fjord cries out to her desperately for now he hears the opening of doors and the bastard getting <em>away-</em></p><p>“Scheiße!” Caleb curses, rolling away and up. Beau ceases in her revenge to look to the now-vacated table where Essek had been- </p><p>“Jester!”</p><p>“Oh - oh shit! <em> Jessie!” </em> </p><p>Both Veth and Beau run to her, leaping over the counter to avoid the glass puddle-</p><p>A struggling wheeze from below him snaps his attention back and Fjord sees the sweat beading across Caduceus' brow, dampening pale hair- </p><p>Two hands settle on the unconscious man’s face, one leaving a sodden red handprint on a slack grey jaw, and a deep, low voice mutters an invocation of cleansing. The splash burn marks across his face don’t quite heal but Caduceus takes a long, deep, <em> clear </em> breath and opens those wide eyes weakly. Fjord gives a soft laugh as Caduceus’ eyes shift and focus eventually landing on him- </p><p>“Oh. <em>Hey."</em></p><p>“H-hey yourself,” he chuckles, relieved. He rubs one thumb across the cheek before pulling away. Thank fuck. Thank <em>Melora.</em> Fjord gets to standing, pulling Caduceus up with him. Caduceus wobbles dangerously and they pull away a little from the thinning cloud as he settles. The concoction still dribbles down the drains where it's spread so far. He moves to attend to Yasha, but Caduceus grabs him. </p><p>“Follow Bren. I’ve got them.” Fjord searches his eyes before looking over his shoulder. ‘Bren’, the man, the creature and Essek are gone. The doors to the ward and back room are settling. <em> Fuck </em>. Before Fjord pulls away, a feathery warmth flitters from Caduceus' fingers and up Fjord’s bloody arm. It’s a familiar sensation, inviting care and love and genuine healing. It’s less salty than his own feels, and more gentle like a summer breeze. It helps, and the pain in his shoulder subsides further. </p><p>“All right. Catch up quick,” he pats Caduceus fondly on the shoulder, sparing a final glance to a barely-breathing Yasha as Cad kneels to her (leaning a bit too heavily on his staff for Fjord’s liking), and to the tops of Beau’s head where she and Veth noisily tend to Jester. He can’t see her, but from the other women’s panicked reactions and the unmistakable popping of a potion bottle cork, it’s bad. <em> Shit. </em> Gods what mess they were in. </p><p>"Be careful!" he hears. </p><p>He turns to clamber for his sword but a roaring crash echoes in the ward and Fjord suddenly feels transported to the Squalleater, to the underground well, to the King’s Cage- </p><p>He’s not in the ward, but he is sure he can feel the licking flames of Caleb’s fiery wall around him. Ah, <em>shit!</em></p><p>He doesn’t have time for Dwueth'var. He grabs Yasha’s discarded sword and lumbers over to the next room, clumsily sidestepping the still-aflame sheen of glass, sizzling rotted meat, and broken jars. He swallows a gag. </p><p>Sure enough when he pushes the door and steps through, half the room behind Caleb is ablaze. </p><p>Fjord cannot help the blanche of horror that crosses his face despite already knowing the poor fucks in the burning beds are dead already. He doesn’t know if <em> Bren </em> knows that. </p><p>The barricading inferno mixed with the undeniable clean smell of soap-on-soap causes the air is a sickening stench of sterile. A waft of <em>rot</em> underlies it all morbidly as the corpses burn and pustules burst. </p><p>Like a Lord surveying his land, a bright figure negatively silhouettes against the dark background of the back-room. The outline is svelte and careful. Precise and practised. His shadow is a hulking creature with a defenceless man in its arms. </p><p>Wearing a dangerously calm façade, is the man he can only assume to be Doktor Brueska. </p><p>Brueska’s eyes are beady, unwavering and pinpointing. Dark, not quite squinting, just always <em> perceiving </em>. Shrewd and cunning. It reminds Fjord of the Gentleman’s gaze sweeping over them, judging their worth, their <em>value</em>. But far colder, and far, far more carnivorous.  His mouth is a thin, severe line outlined by a tidy, trim greying beard. His hairline starts far back on his scalp, just highlighting the height his forehead. Despite having been involved in combat, his combed back hair remains remarkably in place. </p><p>Fjord’s own strands hair clings to him greedily, damp with cold sweat. </p><p>Brueska is not gaunt, but his long face is cut across by two sharp cheekbones and a look of calculation. Under the white coat, splashed with two of his friend’s blood, he wears a shirt, cravat, and fitted waistcoat. </p><p>His boots are too shiny and black to be working in the likes of this fucking place. </p><p>Long fingers curl around a gruesome looking scythe, unmoving. Not twitching. Three drops of blood slide from the curved edge</p><p>one</p><p>by</p><p>one. </p><p>Then those intelligent eyes, peeking over golden-rimmed half moon glasses, slide slowly to Fjord. And he gives a very slight <em>smirk </em>. The sound around Fjord has faded to a low ringing pitch and all he sees is the reflection of damning fire in those lenses. </p><p>The very fire only a few feet behind Fjord where the heat threatens to burn even from here-</p><p>“Put. Him. <em>Down.</em>” Caleb utters. Whatever fear and dread Brueska instilled in Fjord in those few seconds is very swiftly overridden by the broiling, quiet anger simmering dangerously in Caleb with those three words. </p><p>Fjord didn’t know it was possible for a living person to stand so utterly <em>still.</em> He would have thought Caleb petrified if it weren’t for the flickering tick at his jaw and the faint sound of grinding teeth. </p><p>Brueska tilts his head owlishly and slides that cruel gaze back to Caleb, eyes widening with- amusement? </p><p>“Very vell, as you vish!” he almost bows before half-turning and yelling in Zemnian- and Caleb starts forward but then the golem suddenly disposes of Essek behind him and then charges past the Doktor to <em> tackle </em>Caleb-</p><p>A cat’s claw appears with a loud <em> crack! </em> and suddenly zooms to charge it head on. They meet with a thunderous tremor, and then the paw is forcing the creature up against the wall and the beds are still catching <em> fire- </em> Three clatters sound as broken bolts- once embedded in the golem's back- smashed on impact and tumble to the floor-</p><p>Fjord sees an opportunity and leaps in, clumsily wielding the greatsword. It’s a lot bigger than he’s used to, and with a weakened grip he swings too wide to overcompensate-</p><p>His first strike hits stone with a scattering of sparks next to the creature as it thrashes dangerously in the paw- </p><p>And then there’s a searing pain slicing up the back of his leg. He buckles with a gritted cry as the pain <em>sears</em> up his calf and oh <em> god </em> is Caleb actually going to kill him-?</p><p>But it’s not Caleb. Crashing to his knee Fjord spits another cry out and looks up as a shadow befalls him, to find Brueska overhead, brandishing a dripping weapon-</p><p>The Doktor leaps out the way just as an infuriated Caleb launches at him with a <em> growl, </em> that long needle-dagger out once more just catching the threads of a white coat and then the monster up high gargles as the cat’s paw clenches- there’s <em> definitely </em>cracking noises-</p><p>Fjord grits his teeth, feeling his tusks poking out and pinching into his upper lip. Sweat runs streams down his forehead and neck. He tests his leg- it almost gives out immediately. Fuck-!</p><p>A clawed hand swings wide and misses him by inches, arms restrained by the spell-paw. Fuck it. He angles the blade up awkwardly, pommel against his chest, leaning back painfully, and with a deep cry lunges it forward and upwards-!</p><p>It pierces up through layers and layers of flesh and muscle. It wasn’t a blade built for piercing, so he only gets so far into the rib cage before he’s halted. A deep breath, he shakes out the sweat dripping into his eyes - and he adjusts his grip, pressing the pommel better into his good shoulder for leverage. Manoeuvering his lower body forward, he anchors himself down and with a rattling cry ripping from his throat he forces his weight upwards as far as he can, one slick hand almost slipping on the hilt and sending him crashing. It pushes, and <em> pushes- </em> and resists and he clenches his jaw harder, leaning on it <em> harder- </em> forcing it upwards <b> <em>harder-!</em> </b></p><p>Something internal gives way and the blade slides in and up with ease, almost coming out through the top by the collar bones. Balance severely thrown by the sudden jerking, Fjord stumbles almost shaving his cheek and ear off along the blade. Giving a manly gasp, he chokes on spit and looks up. </p><p>The sword is three-quarters in. <em> Skingorger </em> indeed. The shuddering and energy expended to do such a feat physically exhausts him in an instant and his shoulders give way, his grip relaxing on the handle, shoulder dropping as the creature now bears the weight of the weapon. It's gargling and seizing in the claw, the blade having shredded its guts and organs- He pulls it back a little, shuffling round and readying again to force forward. </p><p>A clattering is heard in the back room.  Hopefully some fucking <em>backup</em> for them-</p><p>The paw gives one more damning squeeze and Fjord feels the vibrations of the crushed rib cage around him reverberate down the blade to make his teeth chatter. There’s an orchestra of crunches, and a symphony of breaking- like someone stepping on a pile of walnuts. </p><p>Fighting against the juddering of the creature as it suffocates on its own innards, Fjord hoists the hilt around- twisting the blade and summoning some last threads of strength. He gasps, clenches his teeth and <em>thrusts- </em></p><p>He is impeded by something impassable and he thinks he's hit the spine. Leaning back, he gives a deep cry and <em>crashes</em> his shoulder into the pommel, jutting the sword further just another couple of inches-! </p><p>Immediately the monster falls lifeless. </p><p>The spectral paw releases it without regard before it’s storming away- Fjord gets yanked sidewards violently with the body as it nearly falls on top of him and he struggles to pull the <em>fucking sword </em> out at this angle in time- and fails. His shoulder aches and screams with agony but it's one less fucking oppenent to worry about. Speaking of which-</p><p>Now he sees Brueska and Caleb fighting. </p><p>Brueska is an older man. Fjord would peg him maybe fifty or sixty human years. But he’s <em>spry</em>. His long, lean body has been well taken care of as is evident as he and Caleb dance about brandishing their deadly weapons. The older man clearly has more practice, but Caleb is clever. When Brueska goes to take an opening, Caleb fends off with a magic shield- Fjord watches as the hook aiming for Caleb’s eyes bounces off a shimmering barrier just at the last moment. </p><p>Behind them, a bed cracks and collapses as the fire continues to spread - he spies the still body of the guard Beau was fighting on the sixth bed from the front doors. Other untidy evidence tells of a violent battle- or a panicked once-living pyre. It burns slowly in the crackling heat, skin already crumbling and flaking to ashes. </p><p>Either way, the exit to the ward is off limits. For now. </p><p>Fjord manages to drag hiimself to an unsure footing and can barely hold his weight on his left leg. Fucking- why the left again? First his shoulder now this shit? Is he just <em>that</em> exposed? Fuck, need to work on that maybe Beau-</p><p>The fight continues, and Fjord struggles a little less half-upright to shimmy the blade out because Caleb needs <em> help </em>and Fjord can’t see an opening to fire any fucking <em>spells-</em></p><p>Just as he finally pulls the awkward blade free, the man bats away Caleb’s weapon and deftly feints to sidestep around Caleb only to shove him towards the fire and he sprints back through to the surgery-</p><p>
  <em> Oh no you fucking don’t! </em>
</p><p>Fjord hobbles quickly- </p><p>Only to find a standoff. </p><p>Veth is at the laboratory door, crossbow raised to the middle. </p><p>Beau stands, fists raised in readiness. Her arm wraps are singed beneath her lightning cuffs - both of which are crackling angrily. Her gaze is fixated to the room centre. </p><p>On the sleek table, the only light in here that of the fire wall through the door Fjord just opens, Essek lays draped unconscious with an ominous shadow holding a curved blade to his throat. </p><p>“Let me and ze subject past, else I vill cut his throat here and now. And believe me vhen I say, he vill <em> not </em>recover in time for your healers- if they still live, of course.”</p><p>The voice is low, languid. Lyrical and soft-spoken. It’s <em> chilling</em>, and with his scythe tip pointed at Essek’s exposed neck, his other holding him down hard, there is literally nothing Fjord can do at this time. Brueska has the advantage and no amount of numbers will stop him from slicing fatally. Dying is <em>not</em> an option for a consecuted drow outside of beacon range. They maybe could attempt to resurrect him, but he doesn’t even know how the fuck that would work- and Fjord doesn’t really want Essek to <em> die </em>to be saved-?! It's a harrowing experience- one that he can personally attest to. </p><p>So Caleb steps in. He strides past Fjord, bursting open the other swinging door beside him and spilling in the light. Without breaking step the paw pushes past both men to sweep and tear Brueska up and away from the centre, and right against the counters behind him before the blade can so much as <em>nick</em> dark skin.</p><p>In no time Caleb is right up in Brueska’s space and Fjord just catches sight as Caleb has a handful of fresh ash in his hand and oh his sleeve is burnt away from the elbow down- his arm is a scorching red like forged metal, scabbed with enflamed scars -</p><p>Oh wait, fuck! No- No <em> wait </em> , Brueska will <em>know</em> how to- he has to stop him-! He cries out to stop!<em> Caleb-! </em></p><p>But by the time Fjord moves to step forward and yelled, hampered by his sliced tendon, Caleb is already drawing the ash up his left arm and grabbing hold to Brueska’s right wrist beneath crisp shirt sleeve. </p><p>A cry so tortured and <em> wrecked </em>echoes around as the skin immediately starts to blacken - and it maps upwards like a cracked glass window and out of sight. Fingers shred and unravel before their eyes in crumpling ribbons and the scythe drops to the floor with an echoing clatter. Bones crumple to dust. Blood evaporates into nothing. The arm slowly collapses and withers under the coat as Caleb holds the wrist firm until there’s nothing more to hold, and the skin peels and flakes away like dried leaves from an autumn tree. </p><p>The damage seems to stop partway up- dark, ugly veins branching up a long, strained neck and stopping just beneath the chin. They pulsate thickly, loudly, as the muscles twitch and jerk looking as though poisoned with black ink. In his shadow, Caleb leaves a flat, empty sleeve and a wounded, squirming man. </p><p>Caleb unsheathes the dagger again- </p><p>Fjord has moved now and stands adjacent to Caleb in a grim mirror very reminiscent of them perhaps this very time last year. </p><p>The sword is heavier this time, and more unwieldy for him than he likes, but it does the job as he holds it level at Caleb’s throat once more. </p><p>The arm wielding the stiletto halts for a moment, before it continues on its fatal path deliberately. Fjord isn’t even afforded a glance as blue eyes remain fixated on his prey. </p><p>“Caleb. Listen to me. This man is <em> Brueska-”  </em>Fjord’s eyes flicker to the now-panting man, hoping for some confirmation. He gets none amidst the pain and angst. That seems to do little to sway Caleb anway as he brings the sharp point up very pointedly to beneath Brueska’s chin- right at the fleshy part. He sees a spot of blood form and slide down. Come <em>on</em>, Caleb. Fjord grits his teeth. “He probably knows the <em> antidote</em>. You <em> cannot </em> kill him right now. If you do this, it will be pointless and petty.” <em> Please </em> Caleb. Please don’t make me do this. “I’m looking to you, just like I said I would. Now look <em> to me.” </em></p><p>
  <em> Please! </em>
</p><p>No reaction.</p><p>More blood slides down a straight metal edge, and a hiss escapes Brueska’s thin mouth as he breathes heavily through the pain, neck extended with nowhere to go. The black veins pulse menacingly. </p><p>Beau stalks up behind Caleb, ready to stun and looks to Fjord for a guidance. He gives a subtle shake of the head. He <em> has </em> to believe he can reason with Caleb- with his <em> friend. </em> Though hard to rationalise with given Fjord’s echoing actions at this time… he wasn’t intimidating now, he was pleading… right? What choice did he have- let Caleb kill the man who could cure Essek or-  But he <em> had </em> to stop him-</p><p>“Ha!” spit flies across them, mixed with blood. “An <em> anti-dote? </em> You sinck I made an <em> anti-dote?” </em> The laughter wheezing from Brueska is a cruel, cold chuckle. “Zere is no <em> curing </em> him. My design, my art vas not meant to be <em> cured. </em>It is a honed craft, fully selective and perfected! A shame really, he was such a fine specimen- alvays squirming, whimpering. His mind - oh we want his <em> mind </em> though-”</p><p>“Shut. Your. Fucking. Mouth.”</p><p>The blade starts to pierce flesh and Brueska attempts to angle away choking- Fjord presses his own weapon further, to the point of drawing a thin line of blood. Tears gather in the corner of his eyes. <em> Please </em> don’t make me do this, Caleb. <em> Please-  </em></p><p>“He’s lying to goad you, Caleb. He <em> wants </em> you to end him so we can’t get it.” Beau’s voice, calm and steady, floats over them from behind. “We can take him home and interrogate there with the Jester’s truth thing-” Fuck he hopes she was all right. “Or my magic punches, okay? We’ll <em>get</em> it. We need the antidote else he'll die anyway and this whole ordeal was for fucking nothing." She's verging on desperation, just like Fjord is. "Just let. Him. <em> Go."  </em>She still has her fists ready and a clean shot to his back. The look on her face matches Fjord’s own he imagines. A look of grim resignation at what she may have to do. “Don’t give him what he wants, man. Please.”</p><p>A snarl, twisted and <em> hateful, </em> smears across Caleb’s face. It’s ugly and pinched, baring his teeth and scrunching his features. A full transformation. It’s determined and Fjord can see <em>exactly </em>the moment Caleb deliberately decides to ignore them. It's a turn up of the mouth, a setting of the jaw. Fjord’s face steels with grief, his trembling grip tightening around the hilt as he realises he <em> has </em>to- </p><p>A flash of light, small and miniscule but bright in this dimly lit room, erupts from the centre and they all reactively flinch from it.  </p><p>Essek lays there, a frail smile across his face. His eyes are unfocused and shifting wildly, but they’re trying very hard to hone in on one person. Twisted over on his side, with the very weight of his broken shackle an effort to keep aloft, Essek holds out one emaciated hand and in it, a fine book. </p><p>“I-” he starts. And it’s broken, and scratched, and hoarse, and parched, and its one of the best sounds Fjord’s ever heard. “I ch-chose <em> you. </em> I d-did it, Caleb.” No one is moving. “I trust you. I - I gave it to <em> you, </em>Caleb!” He curls in on himself, coughing weakly and the very action of talking difficult. It hurts to see him so wounded, so beaten and brought this low. “Are-” he sighs, head lolling a little before relocating his target. “I want to… I want to do good. Like I said. I did <em> good </em>…Th-they won't... get it...we won't-” The words drift away to nonsensical ramblings of sharks and ships, but every word is heard. </p><p>Caleb has gone stock-still, head swivelled and gaze entirely on the drow. The blade at Brueska’s throat relaxes a fraction- </p><p>And it’s all he needs. Another flash of light fills the room, less magic and more like a strike of lightning on a dark night fully blinding them in a hasty moment with cries and yelps-</p><p>Fjord is thrown backwards against the wall, shoved and pushed, and he hears the quick steps of heeled boots running- </p><p>By the time his own sight returns, it’s just in time to watch with double vision as a dark, lithe outline leaps through the fiery wall in the ward- and cry out with the burning pain. </p><p>“Fuck!” </p><p><em> “Shit!” </em> </p><p>Beau curses with him as they palm their eyes attempting to do away with the flashing colours and cutting headaches, the cat’s paw now vacant of its target. Mother<em> fucker- </em></p><p>The lab doors open and Fjord wildly swings the blade upright in preparation for more fuckery, his legs wobbling with the effort- </p><p>But then he sees the sweet, <em> sweet </em> sight of a worried Caduceus opening the doors and a very weak and bloodied, <em> but very much alive</em>, Jester being half-carried by a paler-than-normal Yasha. </p><p>Fjord's throbbing shoulders droop and he drops the sword, only to startle when a long, piercing blade clatters noisily and carelessly to the floor. The hand that dropped it slowly rises to reach for a fine book. He takes it very, so <em> very </em>gently, blackened finger tips curling around the spine. </p><p>Essek gives one more weak smile, before he and his eyes slide back into unconsciousness and the slender arm drops. </p><p>No one moves as Caleb’s head tilts slowly to look at the book. He doesn’t open it, but Fjord can imagine his face. Shoulders that had been tense and on guard for the better part of the last few hours finally drop, as though something melts away from his entire person. </p><p>“He’ll be okay,” Caduceus is first to speak, coming to push some of Essek’s hair out of the way. “But we need to get out of here <em> now.” </em> He looks around deliberately, taking in the damage. Out of the eight of them, only really Veth and Caleb look least bruised and beaten. The rest hobble, limp, sway, or pant with pain and exhaustion.  </p><p>Beau’s cuffs stop crackling, but a new noise rises. </p><p>He looks through the ward doors, torn from their hinges when the paw charged through. A clamour at the other end alerts them all as they hear several bodies enter only to be fended off by a temporary, crackling wall of flame. </p><p><em> “Fuck</em> there's more?! How the fuck are we going to get out of here?” Beau gasps looking in the same direction. Her movements aren't as fluid as usual, her clothes charred and several exposed cuts already unintentionally cauterised by Caleb. Fjord can hear the tendrils of panic wrapping around her throat and voice. He’s feeling it too. The wall isn’t going to last long and the lab is still accessible, if just a little blocked by the glass and fumes. They were fucking cornered. </p><p>Shit. </p><p>Fjord looks around. Jester is barely conscious, Yasha not much better. She looks sickly from engulfing so much of the fumes. Caduceus has seen better days, his coat torn, shield scratched and a new crimson scarf wrapped around his neck and hanging gruesomely down his breastplate.</p><p>Fjord didn’t even have the energy or ability to summon a demon to defend or distract. He was wiped. They <em>all</em> were. </p><p>
  <strong>Fuck.</strong>
</p><p>He...he doesn't think they <em>are</em> getting out of here. At least not... alive. </p><p>The voices at the ward door break in and startle at the flames. Fjord can’t see well through the scorching wall, but he can hear quite a number of voices cry out. And they were fucking <em>trapped</em>. What's worse is that the wall was lower in height that it had been when he first came in, and the seconds were only passing as time went on. </p><p>He surveys the barely-standing people around him. And then Essek. </p><p>The poor fuck had been through a lot this last month. He’s definitely paid his dues in blood and flesh. Something...<em>kind</em> passes over Fjord and he realises then and there that he forgives Essek for his past mistakes. Because that's what they were- mistakes. And he's <em>seen</em> that. He's suffered for it in spades. Not how Fjord would have- but... they didn't get a say in that. Fjord makes a promise then and there to anyone listening and himself, that if they could escape he'll help Essek with his second chance as far as he can go- just like his friends did for him. </p><p>But the ideal epiphany is eclipsed by a more realistic ending. </p><p>He meets Yasha’s eyes across the room and awkwardly smiles about her blade. She gives a nod and tight smile- more of a wince, really. But there’s an understanding, and similar conclusion reached. This was their final stand. </p><p>Beau’s head flits back and forth, calculating, looking, surveying- she’s still trying to save them. She's incredible. She hasn’t accepted yet that they can’t get out of this. His best friend. A fighter until the end. He loves her so much, but she'll soon see that they have <em> nothing </em>left. </p><p>Jester’s covered in blood- all her own and it’s <em> far </em>too fucking much. Fjord never wants to see red on her ever again. He probably won't, to be fair. He passes Beau the axe to give back to her with a nudge. At least she'll go down doing what she does best- fighting for the best outcome. Jester starts with a fright, but still manages to give a small smile as she receives her weapon back. One hand clutches it, the other wraps around her holy symbol, pained eyes shining. </p><p>Veth has backed into the corner by the lab door, having made way for the trio coming from the lab. Her crossbow is limp in her hands and she stares distantly at Caleb. Fjord can’t quite read her expression in the shadow but it’s not an immediately happy one. </p><p>Oh god, <em> Veth</em>. She has <em>Luc</em> and <em>Yeza</em>- </p><p>A fresh wave of regret folds over him. He should have gotten her <em>home</em>. She came of her own will of course but how the fuck would her family cope, having her <em> actually </em> dead this time and truly never coming back? They had promised to get her back. And Jester! He promised <em> Marion-! </em>The Clays would be doing their own waiting just like Caduceus did for a decade… but there'd be no miraculous finding and recovery this time. Beau’s little brother never seeing his sister again- </p><p>Their impending executioners make entry into the lab, calling and slowing but still <em> advancing- </em></p><p>Caleb... he was going to die like this. Having reverted back to what he never wanted to be. Mentally chained so deep in a hell and to a past he fought <em>so fucking hard</em> to escape. Ultimately imprisoned again. It was so fucking <em>tragic</em> Fjord wanted to reach for him, but his trembling fingers wouldn't move. He couldn't help his friend, in the end. </p><p>He never got the crawling, corrosive fear of impending death the last time on the ship. He was just dead. </p><p>Somehow it was a little better that way, he wryly thinks. Then again he'd been alone in the crow's nest...flat on the deck of the ship with no sight on all of the faces he'd want to see in  his final moments-</p><p>A weight lifts from his shoulder and chest as Fjord realises with startling clarity that this was not actually a bad way to die- surrounded by the only real family he's ever known and trying to save a friend in need. One that he's forgiven too. The peace is shaky, and tentative. But it helps. A little.</p><p>But not enough. He knows what to expect this time, and the phantom pain in his chest sears a slicing brand. </p><p>His bloody hand reaches up to cup around the specially-made brooch at his chest. He’s not even going to die with his own sword in his hands. Somehow that thought is the one that causes a treacherous lump of grief to become fully tangible as his throat bobs up and down. He sniffs wetly. The flames in the next room are nearly low enough to see the doorway, and the guards waiting there watching. Ah, they'd split. Hopefully it'll be over with quickly then.  </p><p>He arches his aching back, and settles into a fighting-ready stance, blade trembling in his grasp. His shoulders weep with blood and pain, his leg singing with sliced agony as he tries not to put weight on it. The others at the lab door back up, staring. Listening. Waiting. </p><p>He remembers Melora's calming embrace the last time- only a few weeks ago. He really had extra borrowed time, huh? Not such a terrible thing awaiting him, really. </p><p>The thought is only a slight comfort. He still fears the pain. The last breath. Just a nasty process between here and eternal peace. </p><p>Empty. Molly's words echo from nowhere. What if there wasn't anything? And he just conjured up - ? He wonders if there <em>is</em> something, that he'll see the others there and they'll be together- Or... </p><p>The idea that his friends are also going to die-<em> that's</em> the one that splits his expression into a wrenching sob. He doesn't hide it. No one judges him for it. Some wear similar aggreived expressions and tear tracks.  He loves them all so much just for that. Just for letting him be emotional and expressive without passing comment or derision. He loves them all so much in general. He never told them that enough. He should have. But he'll do the next best thing- try to rally them together as one. They're a unit. A family. And they were going to go together. </p><p>And Fjord's heart shatters at that one thought. </p><p>They don't say all they want to. They don't have time. They don't need to. They know how much they mean to each other. How this last year has fucking changed them all for the better. Of all the lives they've helped. They're the Mighty Nein. They'll fucking go down fighting like it. </p><p>“Well!" He starts between rickety breaths. He half-chokes the rest out. "Time to give them one last fucking mighty <em> nein</em>, eh?” </p><p>Beau raises her fists to eye-level, seemingly unable to fathom a way out of this bleak end. She shakes her head in grim agreement, lips tightly pressed together containing her own hopelessness. Blue eyes glisten. </p><p>Jester nods at him, tail weakly lashing and posture tender with pain, and holds up her returned axe in readiness. She is so <em>young</em>. The thought of Marion realising her daughter wasn't going to return- another jerky gasp escapes him as he looks over her. Jester's own crumpled face betrays the same thought. God, she's going to be <em>heartbroken</em>. </p><p>Caduceus stands straight and tall, and gives him a single, respectful nod. His smile, sad and accepting disappears as he turns to watch the door. Of course he doesn't fear death as the rest of them. But neither is his expression serene. It's troubled. It's anxious. He'll <em>never</em> see his family again. Their reunion was so brief. </p><p>Bizarrely, Fjord wonders what kind of tea he'd be, and a wet chuckle erupts from him.</p><p>Veth holds up her crossbow from the corner, the bolt tip shining from the flickering fire in the ward. She'll get in some fucking good shots from there. Maybe they can keep the guards distracted enough for her to do some serious damage and sneak away so she can get back to her family. She spares him a long glance and gives quick nod of her head. </p><p>Yasha has drawn forth her sleeker sword, dropping to a low stance, daring the lab doors to open. They'd not long had her back. Couldn't she have some peace in her life? Just once? She doesn't deserve this at all.</p><p>Shouts and commands rattle through, so much closer. Adrenaline pulses through them all as they take deep breaths. At least Essek will be oblivious to it all. 'Welcome to the Mighty Nein' indeed, Thelyss. Fjord's sorry he wasn't going to be reborn. They couldn't save him. They failed they <em>fucked up</em> they were going to die-</p><p>Wildmother- Melora.<em> Thank you</em> for ever- </p><p>“I do believe I told you all,” Caleb starts, interrupting their morbid acceptance. Still staring at Essek, he slips the unmarked leather book beneath his tunic carefully. He reaches up to pull the tie his hair, letting it fall freely in a fiery mess “That once there was an underground river beneath here.” </p><p>“Yeah, but Caleb I don’t know if you fucking <em> noticed </em>but we don’t even know if it’s still there! We’re not exactly near a fucking bridge or ladder or cliff or anything that could take us there!” Beau hisses, her stance still tight and rigid and glancing at him with a withering look. Her words are defensive and harsh, eyes flicking back and forth between the wizard and the doors, ready for the oncoming military deluge.  </p><p>He meets her gaze coolly, with a sardonic smirk, and rolls up his non-burnt sleeve. Like sick tallies, scars mark up the skin. </p><p>“Oh, but we do know<em>.</em> It was just repurposed. Look to your feet.” </p><p>The footsteps are careful but closer, glass and other shit being wetly shifted as boots come closer and closer- </p><p>As one they all look down to the same tiled floor- and to the deep grates lining a neat row along it. </p><p>“Nott, get your feather out!” </p><p>Before they can answer, Caleb yells for Beau and Fjord to back away (which they do immediately, albeit him with a wobbly lumber, because he wasn’t about to fucking <em> argue </em> with that tone) and the cat’s paw turns from its posting and pounds once, twice- <em>four </em>times on the ground, each assault cracking breaking crashing bursting fracturing <em> daring-  </em></p><p>Until the ceramic splinters spread and the floor breaks-</p><p>The doors to the lab are thrown wide open but it's too late-</p><p>All together they plummet below into the consuming dark.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Freefall and Recall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>a/n: many apologies everyone. I fractured my hand some weeks ago which made typing very uncomfortable and painful. Turns out it was actually broken and well- cue several weeks of healing and setbacks later and hey ho all momentum lost on this story RIP. </p><p>Secondly I'm downgrading the rating on this from E to M. It was rated E mainly because I intended for very graphic violence and while there is graphic violence I don't feel it's too far beyond what canon descriptions we've had in Critical Role itself. </p><p>Thirdly, forgive any degradation in writing and/or content quality. I'm feeling a little nervous returning to such a big story after such a long break and am feeling a bit rusty &lt;3</p><p>Lastly, thank you all for any and all comments as you've waited between updates, they meant the world to me and helped kick my arse in gear to finish this. Hope you're all doing well and enjoying having our favourite show back!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In her home of Nicodranas, Jester lived all her early years at the Lavish Chateau. </p><p>It was warm, comely. Alive and vibrant with people- most especially her mother, Marion. Jester recalls being at the top of the stairs listening to her sing, or hiding away in some cubby-hole, stifling giggles at Marion’s latest patron. </p><p>On some days, when painting exhausted her, The Traveller wasn’t around to play and it was too stuffy to focus on books, Jester would wander into their garden. It was an enclosed, private space with trellis-coated walls and creeping vines draping. There were sculpted ornaments, gifts and favours alike keeping her company here. During those hot, hot afternoons she wouldn’t sit on the stone bench in the bright sun, no. She would slump and sink into a shaded hammock. </p><p>Jester <em> loved </em>that hammock. She would swing and sway for hours just listening to the sounds of the city over the walls. Through hatched shade she would watch the lazy dances of gulls and terns in the infinite blue sky.</p><p>It was cosy, safe. It was a blanket wrapped around her moving in gentle motions to lull her into a doze. She recalls feeling very contained and content in that little open cocoon, suspended and secure, as the warm breeze tickled her skin and the scent of the sea sent her off to slumber. </p><p>She was going to put one up in the Xhorhaus. Right near the big tree. Where she could see all the lights she and Caduceus put up. </p><p>Jester remembers climbing the Arbor Exemplar. She remembers the rough scratchy bark beneath her fingers, the chafed-off fragments sticking beneath her nails. She remembers securing her feet, and using her strength to push up, feeling around for the next foothold. She remembers seeing Beau’s incredible silhouette dashing upwards like an acrobat from Molly’s circus. She recalls hearing Fjord’s breathing, huffing and puffing as he ascended ahead of her. </p><p>She remembers her grip breaking in one hand as she flailed and failed to correct it. </p><p>She recalls the immediate sinking pit in her gut as her other hand, still clutching to a scratch of bark, no longer felt secured as it tore away with a splintering peel. </p><p>Vividly, Jester recalls that feeling of freefall into oblivion. As tears gathered in her eyes, a scream tearing from her throat, and skirts fluttering around her in violent whipping winds, Jester can still envision the tree canopy above fleeing into the high distance. </p><p>She was saved at the last minute, and it took a few hot seconds for her body to catch up with that fact as everything within her still raced. </p><p>And here she was experiencing it again. </p><p>Instinctively, reactively, <em> remembering</em>, she scrapes and scrambles for any sort of grip, desperate and panicked. Caleb’s paw startles her when with its final pound the ground gives way, taking all of them with it. </p><p>Something jagged and raw lurches deep within Jester as her feet and legs give way with the floor. A fear, shallowly buried, surfaces and threatens to overwhelm her in a violent quake as tile fragments and furniture crashes around her thunderously and here she was again in freefall and the ceiling was soaring away from her like the tree canopy with her body attempting to tense for the inevitable landing that was going to kill her -</p><p>Deja vu cradles her as her hair calms in it’s frenzied fashion and her heavy skirts stop sticking to the back of her legs - but she finds no pain. Instead she was floating again, tears gathering in her eyes, her panic abruptly halted to the point of feeling winded. It reminded her of being saved at the Exemplar- that feathery feeling of an invisible wind somehow supporting her body from underneath. The view above still pulled away from her- a cracked hole of dim light with debris and stone hurtling past her- and now that she wasn’t plunging she registers the panicked cries of her friends. </p><p>She feels embraced, as though back in that homely hammock, lulling her gently to safety.</p><p>Beside her, Caduceus has a grip on Essek, with Beau and Yasha by her feet. Twisting her head to look around struck a sharp streak of pain from her wound to the base of her skull and her resulting yelp was cracked and cut short. </p><p>The fall lasts for only a few seconds really, but it felt <em> so </em>much longer. Curiously, the mysterious force felt like it was tethered to her torso, as she started to tilt upwards from her falling position until she was near upright. As a result when she touched solid ground, it was with her boots. </p><p>The light feeling of safety around her waits until she has a strong foothold on the rocky surface before pulling away. Jester feels herself sag under exhaustion and injury once again again. Fjord is there already, clasping one hand and forearm to stop her from toppling. </p><p>“Some-” huff. “Fucking-” huff. “<em> Warning-!</em> Would be-!” Pant. “<em>Nice!” </em> Beau scolded, performing a clumsy-for-her flourish as she leaps from the craggy wall to next to Caduceus, hands bracing on her knees to catch her breath.</p><p>The light down here was absent. Only a faint glare from above shone down on them, dust and debris still tumbling down. Jester’s vision adjusted, though only mildly and slower than normal, and she estimated perhaps only dropping thirty or forty feet. Though her vision was not sitting still so it may have been like, a hundred feet or something. But falling- it just somehow felt so much farther. </p><p>Offering a weak smile to Fjord, she pulls away and places a hand on a wall. </p><p>Well, wall was not quite what she’d call it maybe. It was a rock face, carved and chipped beneath her trembling palm. Damp. Squinting she couldn’t see much ahead, but she could hear trickling water. Above her she saw two faint lines of light- one a burning umber and the other rattling with marching footsteps. The ‘drains’ from the ward and lab, she’d guess. </p><p>Also above, voices and orders yelled out as two shadows peered over, blocking the torchlight they brought. </p><p>She jumps as two bolts of energy- one a pale green, the other an angry red, shoots upwards rapidly from behind her. The fire bolt crashes into the ceiling above, startling the guards away from the hole, but not quickly enough that Fjord’s spell misses. One slow guard takes the blast to the face and immediately topples over- </p><p>Watching someone else fall the same height Jester did is <em> really </em> weird. It happens so quickly when you’re standing still, but she knows that the man is experiencing time a little differently as he comes to join them. He’s screaming- from pain or falling or both, she doesn’t know. Did she scream? <em> Can </em>she even scream now? </p><p>The difference between her experience and this guard’s is the sickening crunch as he lands lopsided, spine-first on the crooked ground. She doesn’t even wince as she tracks him to the terminus of his trajectory. How sad for him. The blood is already pooling and travelling and she can’t even distinguish his blood from hers on her boots in this dark. </p><p>Did he go blurry or did she? She squeezes her eyes shut and blinks rapidly. Oh man. </p><p>Yasha and Veth are straight in there, putting the moaning man out of his misery, and she recognises the yells and anger coming from above- but she doesn’t really register it. </p><p>Tight-lipped she turns around to look deeper. The crevice they landed in isn’t terribly wide, nor is it suffocating and tight. </p><p>Her hand, the one not on the wall, grabs her dress but - but she hears a metallic clang and a tiny vibration rumble through her boots. Looking down slowly, she sees… oh, Veth picks up her axe and hands it back handle first. Huh. Jester takes a moment to resheathe it but the little loop in her belt won’t stop shaking for some reason, and two round, brown hands guide her ruby one to slot it properly. That’s better. Oh, she looks like Mamma-</p><p>As she’s looking down at her waist, her Traveller symbol gives a little shine as though winking at her. The smile she gives it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. </p><p>“We need to move, they’ll be on us in no time and probably know these caves better than we do-”</p><p>Caleb was taking point again. Taking initiative. Making decisions for the group without consultation. She can’t even be upset about it. There’s no time for talking. No time to weigh out their options. She knows that. She doesn’t like it though. Wow, her dress feels super heavy. It didn’t always. She looks down again. It’s dark, the new scarf she has draping down her chest.. And messy. And wet. Slick. Drying and crusting. Smelly, tangy. She doesn’t think she likes it. Her Mamma always looked better in red.  </p><p>Yasha takes Essek from an awkwardly bent Caduceus, sheathing her sword, and together the Mighty Nein look into the hungry darkness.</p><p>Beau’s put her goggles on, and Caleb’s set up a single globe of light a few feet ahead. They were definitely in a cave, compact and cavernous. At their feet, water (she hoped) trickled by leading them further in. Cautiously, they start to move. </p><p>Well, the group do. Jester’s feet are a bit stuck because she <em> wants </em> to move, she thinks, but- </p><p>A hand on her back guides her forward and Jester leans into the familiar form of her tallest friend. He’s so soft. But a bit stinky. Her nose wrinkles a little. They should all soak in the hot tub when they get back, that’s a good idea. Mmm. Maybe with some drops of her lavender oil. And the lights! She can almost feel the warm water climbing her body as she submerges up to her shoulders- Oh. Someone’s talking again. </p><p>“We just need to get beyond the grounds, right? And with your smart wizard brain you can figure out when they’ll be, yeah? Then we bamf out cos we’ll be past the wards.” Beau’s words flow, deep and urgent. “Right?” Beau presses after a few beats. Their pace was slow and sluggish. Pain crippled them, and uneven footholds hampered. Jester tries to muster up an image of running on the sands of Nicodranas, the ground shifting beneath her feet and she has to adjust her balance to stay aloft… but all she can imagine is the underground river in Zadash, and the dangers that lurk there. </p><p>She should message her dad. She misses him. She’ll do that. As soon as she’s home. And slept. She can’t message him now, not when she looks like this. No. Don’t want to worry him. Plus it’s not nice having a conversation feeling so <em> icky</em>. Oh man, Sprinkle probably won't even come near her looking like this. Caduceus’ hand presses a little firmer at her back and she regains balance she didn’t realise she was losing. </p><p>Her eyes, strained with growing stabbing pains behind them, imagine shapes moving in the dark. Her ears treacherously twitch with sounds not really there- or maybe they <em> were- </em>with echoes reverberating from memories and times gone by. </p><p>Maybe they <em> are </em> there and Artagan is playing tricks on her. She huffs a little. She doesn’t like these ones. The sound of running water gets a little louder. Oh man, what if she has to go pee?</p><p>“Caleb? We just need to get outside the wards? <em> Right? </em>” Beau repeats not receiving an answer the first time. She speaks in a whisper, urgent and scared. </p><p>Caleb, leading the group, is hunched and forcing himself not to stride ahead. Jester’s breath is coming in small puffs from exertion and gritting her teeth through aches and bodily wrongs. She starts leaning less on the wall and more on Caduceus. He makes a small noise at the additional weight, but no complaint. </p><p>She loves him <em> so much. </em> </p><p>
  <em> “Caleb-!” </em>
</p><p>“I cannot teleport us tonight. We will have to wait until the morning.”</p><p>Even in near-darkness it’s easy to sense Beau’s back getting up. The instant intake of a nasally breath. The scraping of her nails along the wall she holds to as she walks. Jester can’t see Beau behind her, but she knows <em> exactly </em>what she looks like. </p><p>Jester’s too focused on not sliding along the rock to stop her from the inevitable lash out. She just wants to go <em> home. </em> She wants to be away from here and see the tree and the lights and her <em> bed </em> - </p><p>Her holy symbol gives a soft tinkle, as though something tapped it. She gives an awkward shoogle to acknowledge it, not willing to let go of either Caduceus or the smooth, stoney support. </p><p>Whatever retort was on Beau’s tongue, whatever protest and complaint was about to come from Fjord and Veth- all was cut off when a noise echoes from far ahead to their right. A noise of many footsteps- armed and marching their way.</p><p>Oh <em> shit. </em> </p><p><em> “Schiesse,” </em> Caleb utters, deliberately ignorant or wholefully oblivious of the storm brewing behind him in their friends. He stops immediately, sending them into further darkness as he extinguishes his only globe. They’ve reached a bit of a crossroads- </p><p>Oh. </p><p>When did it become less cave and more sewer? She squints down at her boots, shining and slick. Sure enough, just beyond them is old mossy brick. Huh. Blinking and squinting past Caleb she sees… a rounded tunnel. More built and less natural- and a river! Oh <em> that’s </em> what stinky- the <em> river-  </em></p><p>“I have a plan and we have little time. Nott, with me. Beauregard, Fjord, Yasha- get the others out of here-”</p><p>The several strangled protests that arise throb at Jester’s already pounding head but she can’t help but add her silent anger and disdain at this ‘plan’. </p><p>“We don’t have <em> time </em>-” he sharply cuts across, and a clatter, closer than before, certainly highlights the incoming company and currency of their situation. He spins around and meets their gazes with that same burning fire that’s been fuelling him all night. </p><p>Fire. Warmth. Home. She just wants <em> home</em>. Essek needs warmth. He looks so cold-</p><p>“Most of you are half-dead or near it. Nott and I are more likely to draw their attention <em> and </em>evade them.”</p><p>“Caleb this is a dumb fucking plan even for how you’ve been tonight- not to mention that you’re our way out anyway! And we’re not leaving you or <em> Veth </em>-!” Beau growls, pushing a little past Jester to make her point to the man. </p><p>“We will be fine. Just get them out of here!” Beau has reached him now and is whispering in angry tones. He gives as good back but Jester is starting to sway and her whole body is on fire. Not literally though, that would be silly. Especially somewhere so damp.</p><p>Her symbol gives a little ring again and she fumbles for it loosely, hanging on Caduceus just a little more. He takes her weight again without complaint, adjusting his staff to compensate. Simultaneously she squeezes his arm and her symbol, attempting to communicate her silent gratitude to two of her dearest companions. </p><p>Eyesight already hazy in the dim light, she looks up, half-lidded and sees Beau looking over her shoulder directly at her,a look of what Jester can only think to be hesitation on her face. </p><p>“Do you see, Beauregard?” Caleb hisses. </p><p>Jester doesn’t like the look on Beau’s face as she turns around. She doesn't like her shoulders slumping in defeat. Beau doesn’t <em> do </em> defeat. But then she bounces back to herself when she punches Caleb in the shoulder. “You better fucking come back to us, man, or I’m going to kill you myself.” Caleb doesn’t even flinch, just gives a terse nod. “Same for you Veth. Make sure you <em> both </em> come back.” </p><p>Mmm splitting up isn’t good. Splitting up is <em> never </em>good. The last time they split C-Caleb killed that woman and- and- </p><p>Her hand is slick and slippery over the little Archway hanging around her neck, so she clasps it tighter to keep a stern hold. She doesn’t like this. </p><p>She doesn’t like a lot of things. She doesn’t often say that. She should. She <em> should </em> communicate more. But - but speaking is hard. In general it’s hard, and fighting that positive attitude she usually has- plus she’s not sure she <em> can </em> speak right now- </p><p>Oh no- what if she’ll never speak again? She’d have to write everything down and sure that’s possible and she <em> could </em>do it. It'd be a bother but then she’d not be able to send messages or talk to the Traveller or even make silly songs to sing and-!</p><p>A hand on her shoulder settles her growing breaths a fraction and she sees a wisp of green in the corner of her eye. </p><p>There’s more organised din <em> not </em>from their party, and there’s more words being exchanged but fatigue is settling over her like an inviting duvet. </p><p>Jester’s...confused but all feels right when she leans into Caduceus’ coat heavily. Mmm, bit stinky, but not as bad as the river. Oh it’s torn too. The tear is… frayed, and jagged. Bit like how her throat feels. She tilts her head to peer at it closer. She should mend that. </p><p>“Jessie, you take care of them okay?” Huh? Oh. She looks down from the tear in the pretty coat to Veth, looking up with big eyes. Gosh she was always so pretty as a goblin, but she just glows as a halfling. Jester exerts some effort and lifts her Symbol of the Traveller between them, shakes it a bit at Veth then drops it to pat her cheek fondly, touching a button on her necklace. There. She’s guided now! Veth pats Jester’s hand and walks back, giving a small wave. Jester returns it and nuzzles back into Caduceus. </p><p>Maybe she could put a button on Caduceus’ coat! Maybe he would like that. Yellow? No, pink. Maybe green? Do they have buttons? Veth will. Probably. She’ll ask. </p><p>She’ll do that at home. When Veth comes back. Yeah. She could attach a button. </p><p>Probably. </p><p>Caleb draws near and takes a little time to look at them all, herself included. She gives a weak smile that he doesn’t reciprocate. “Send us a message when you are safe, ja?” he tells her specifically. She nods, managing to give a weak salute. She <em> thinks </em>she can. Maybe. They’ll find out. She’s- she’s scared that she won’t but.. Well, she can’t say that right now. </p><p>He seems appeased, and moves behind them. She twists a little - not as much to cause acute pain this time - and just sees Caleb approach Essek in Yasha’s arms. He brushes dry hair out of the face of their friend. </p><p>Poor Essek. He <em> really </em> needs a bath and good pyjamas. Oh man. <em> Pyjamas- </em></p><p>That little tinkle rings again. Artagan likes pyjamas too. She should make hers green. They could match- like they used to! Would Essek look good in green, she thinks, watching Caleb just watch him. Probably, A deep green, not bright. Silky too cos he’s fancy. </p><p>A last lingering glance, and then a brief press of Yasha’s forearm and Caleb is striding back to the front of the group with Veth scurrying on his heels, crossbow ready. Then they’re out of sight.</p><p>It’s only then does she realise that she’s being guided backwards the way they came as she stumbles a little and grips onto a thin arm for support. Beau’s there then propping her up and then they’re crouching down in silence in the rocky crevice where it transitioned to tunnel proper. It’s for more than a few seconds, she knows that much. Head lolling a little, her spine finds respite against the stonework and she shifts her weight off of Caduceus while they wait for-whatever the plan was. She doesn't remember. She’s got a rest for now. Jester’s glad. Her legs hurt. Her arms hurt. Her neck is splintered and sore with the - with the- </p><p>When <em> he </em>- </p><p>Oh- </p><p>
  <b> <em>Oh. </em> </b>
</p><p>Waking up, slick with blood, dizzy and defensive, Jester had lashed out at the liquid being poured forcibly down her throat, on her throat, <em> at </em> her throat- choking and spluttering until it eased with the regenerative properties taking immediate effect. </p><p>Her body <em> scorched </em> in protest, phantom blades still sticking out of her like one of Mamma’s pincushions. She blinked once, twice, and three times over to stop the overlap of that terrifying man’s face on Beau and Veth’s. </p><p>The glean in the lenses, the hot breath on her face. The knife slicing, dicing, piercing, severing, slashing, cutting, slitting, <em> splitting, </em> <b> <em>killing-</em> </b> <em> ! </em></p><p>Her head rolled as her short breaths came quick and fast, barely able to articulate for a few moments. Hot hands on her shoulders, cradling her face, supporting her back, ground her and she shakes every instinct to throw them off. They’re not him they’re not him they’re not him-</p><p>A cooler hand presses to her face and she’s back in the tunnel, Beau and Caduceus right in front of her with matching looks of worry. Not the lab, <em> not </em> the lab. Oh she’s feeling dizzy and out of breath- </p><p>Noises, footsteps, metal and hard encroach. The party, encased in darkness, sat low just out of sight listen as the guards make their way near- </p><p>And then there’s a commotion, of unmistakable Zemnian and panic- </p><p>Calamity, ruckus. Pranks and distraction- </p><p>She imagines Veth running away as a Platinum Dragon priest and feels her face twist into a contorted smile, the urge to giggle a little knot in her damp chest. </p><p>She can hear the faint noise of the retreating yells and orders as their friends run out of earshot, freeing them to leave. </p><p>Wait- wait no- they- they have to go get them-! They can’t leave! </p><p>She clambers forward, knees scraping as she crawls to the exit of this cave, hands cutting where rock turns to brick but her <em> friends </em> -they’re leaving their friends!</p><p>Just as she reaches the corner, ready to scramble around and give chase a force at her sternum pushes <em> hard </em> against her and before she can yelp a green hand encompasses the lower half of her face as she startles and <em> freaks- </em> </p><p>A noise, faint but <em> just </em> there- just a few feet away from where she can’t see to her right - </p><p>The unmistakable sound of someone trying to move slowly in metal armour. Maybe more than one person. She jumps as a new hand grabs onto her cloak and one on her belt and the rest of her friends have caught up but she’s caught frozen with her hands pressing hard against slimy brick and her knees cry with fresh bruises and cuts but <em> someone’s </em> there -</p><p>Jumping, her whole body jostles as two little shadows scurry past her, inches from her trembling hands and around the corner-</p><p>Where two people also yelp out loud- </p><p>“For fuck sa-” an exale of breath. “Just a coupla fucking <em> rats</em>. Gods I hate this place. Come on, Bells. Let’s get the fuck outta here.”</p><p>“No complaints from me,” comes the companion. </p><p>No one moves for many moments. The reverberating echo of the two guards marching away, still complaining about their work conditions goes on for an infinite amount of time until eventually Jester feels the Traveller symbol at her stomach stop pressing against her and the hand carefully disappears from her face. Behind her several held breaths are released. </p><p>Jester still can’t move. </p><p>She can. She is. But it’s shaking, and trembling, and tremors, and jitters and her arms are about to give way- </p><p>She’s relieved of her own weight by Fjord and Beau scooping her up. </p><p>“Heeey, hey Jessie. Don’t scare us like that. You can’t go running off.” Beau talks to her like a frightened child- though she can’t argue that she doesn’t <em> feel </em>like one right now. Her tone shifts as she looks over Jester’s head to Fjord. “Caleb said to follow the river as far as we can. Should lead us out.” </p><p>“After how long?” comes the reply above. The answer is a shrug as Jester is jostled a little. A shadow crowds around them and Caduceus reaches out one long hand carefully to Jester’s cheek. Where his fingertips meet skin she feels a caressing coolness. It’s mossy- not like the slimy stuff beneath them, but somewhere wooded, and open, and fresh. Somewhere clean, and nice. She closes her eyes and unashamedly leans into it until his whole palm cups her face. After she doesn’t know how long she can feel some strength return to her legs and her spine straightens just a fraction. Her head and throat still throb, but she’s grateful for even just a little bit of help at this point. Healing. Yes. Healing was good. His thumb gives a gentle motion across her cheek and lets go. </p><p>“Feeling a bit better there, Jester?” Fjord whispers. Without looking, instead trying to focus her eyes properly, she gives a breathy nod and pulls away from her friends. Her balance isn’t <em> fixed- </em>fixed, but it’s manageable and she thinks she can go on for a bit. </p><p>Silently reading her, and taking their cue, the group start to move and go left- following the foul river. It doesn’t sound deep, nor is it wide. At this point she’d wager maybe less than ten feet across. They stick to the old brickwork, noting other little corridor offshoots as they go. </p><p>At some point, Caduceus lights up his staff a fraction and even that was nearly enough to blind Jester as the stabbing behind her eyes doesn’t ease. </p><p>The next time they stop to cross another intersection, another little stream coming to join the big river, they inspect it with the help of Caduceus’ light. She doesn’t know why they stop at first. It takes a moment for her to really register much other than they’re not moving. But as she peers round and drinks in the sight, it becomes evidently clear. </p><p>It’s bones. </p><p>Lots of bones. </p><p>Not a single skeleton. Oh no. A <em> pile</em>. A dam of bones. Skulls- some horned, some cracked. Some broken. Others just <em> bones. </em>She thinks she sees what might have been large wings. Some splinters are very small. </p><p>And they don’t all seem <em> old </em>either. </p><p>No one comments as they look, but Caduceus does shift into a more ready stance. He’s frowning, and staring… peering as he leans a little closer. The pile is a little ways away but he still leans forward, squinting. Whatever he’s looking for he doesn’t find and his body relaxes.. “We’re clear. Just bones.”</p><p><em> Oh. </em> </p><p>Fjord nods and then turns around again, feet splashing in the shallow trickle coming from that particular alcove as he crosses to continue. She does nothing more than follow.  </p><p>She isn’t sure how long they travel. It’s a very slow pace. Quiet, and single-file. She’s in the middle, with Fjord taking point, and Beau at the rear. Caduceus is directly in front of her with Yasha and their unconscious friend behind her. What a funny line they must look. Small, tall, small, tall with small, small- </p><p>Something changes after a while, and she can’t put her finger on it. Not until she tunes in properly to her surroundings, her thoughts more focussed on placing one foot in front of the other and not falling...but the sound of the river at some point became a gush. A rush. </p><p>And their pathway was leading them <em> down</em>. </p><p>Down...wasn’t where they wanted to go, right? They wanted to be <em> less </em> underground. Not more. The river is also wider, and deeper- </p><p>Her foot gives way splashing into the murky water as she loses focus and a force around her waist is the only thing stopping her toppling completely until Yasha is there reaching one hand forward and Caduceus turns to grab her-</p><p>Shaken she’s pulled upwards and beelines straight to collapse at the old, rounded wall.  </p><p>She <em> hates </em>this place so much. </p><p>“Yeah, maybe a small rest would do us good,” Fjord states quietly, and she catches her breath as the others sit. She eventually realises they’re a little out of breath too, despite their sluggish pace. </p><p>“How do you think they’re getting on?” Yasha’s quiet voice drifts across the running water. </p><p>Fjord answers from her far left. “Hopefully fine. They did spend a few years on the run together, they’re pretty in-tune with each other. Or were. Caleb’s been-” </p><p><em> “Yeah.” </em> Beau interrupts. It’s a sharp sound. Biting. They know what she means. </p><p>“Something to deal with after,” Caduceus pipes up. No one answers him, too scared to voice their concerns that <em> after </em> seems to be a faraway concept at this point. It certainly felt that way in the laboratory, trapped between flame and foe. </p><p>Jester stares best she can at the flowing river. It’s still very dark, even with Caduceus’ dim light. Sitting down, being <em> still</em>, she can definitely feel them on an angled slope. It’s not steep, but it’s not comforting either. She just hopes Caleb knows what he’s talking about. </p><p>Their respite is interrupted by a rasp- a quick cough and choke and they’re all ready to defend until it dawns on them that it’s <em> Essek </em> and he’s writhing and shaking a little in Yasha’s arms - </p><p>“Oh no-” Caduceus climbs over Jester and she scrambles forward, crowding the man and his guardian. She leaves sticky fingerprints as she shakes hair from his face, the sweat beading down his forehead in this chilly tunnel- </p><p>Caduceus’ fingers give that soft glow once more as he tilts Essek’s chin up to help the airway- </p><p>But it doesn’t relieve him. </p><p>“This isn’t good, we need to go. I don’t know if the sewers are exacerbating this or if it’s just a development but I’d rather not wait to find out,” he looks back to Fjord sternly. </p><p>“Uh, right. Let’s get a move on then.” </p><p>Their brief respite just that, the group are moving again, feet now marching to a new beat- a gasping and pained one. Jester’s legs are on fire and she’s gritting her teeth but they need <em> out</em>. She uses the pain as a tether, a rope that’s pulling her ahead. The harder she grasps, and pulls, and pulls, the more blood she draws but the quicker she moves. </p><p>Determination sets in her bones and she’s not hiding her pants and huffs trying to keep up with Fjord, Caduceus now behind her and Yasha. Her nails are breaking with every brick they scrape but she needs all the leverage she can get to pull herself forward. They came here to help Essek, they weren’t going to lose him now. Not here. </p><p>It’s just as she’s tasting blood, and as she’s sure her face is now set in a permanent scowl, that a new racket is heard and Jester freezes, nearly sending Yasha ramming into her with the suddenness of her stop. </p><p>Images of an army, ready, waiting. Death. Pain. Weapons and spells- An inescapable end sitting just ahead-</p><p>But it’s just because it’s <em> loud</em>. </p><p>It takes a moment but eventually she recognises it- it’s the sound of churning. Rushing. Falling. </p><p>A waterfall. </p><p>Fjord hadn’t stopped, not noticing the pause in the line, and he’s moved ahead several feet before halting. Sure enough, as though on cue, his head bends down and he leans a little out. </p><p>“We have a problem.”</p><p>It takes a few minutes to decide their course of action, but it feels like hours. </p><p>One by one they had eventually walked up and peered over into the end of the sewers. Appearing as a natural cavern, the termination of brickwork decides that this is where all the waste and water ends up- a pool of darkness. </p><p>“Shit. Shit, shit, fucking <em> shit!” </em></p><p>Beau is not taking it well. She’s been and peered over the edge four times, coming back to pace and run her hands through singed hair before stomping back and looking up. Around. Back. ahead. Down again. </p><p>Jester looked once and darted back as quick as she could. It was a <em> drop </em> for sure. She wasn’t even sure she could see the bottom, only that it was there, and not within a short jumping distance. </p><p>She now sat beside Yasha once more, trying to comfort a hacking Essek, whose fits and bouts of coughing were coming more frequently. </p><p>“We can’t sit here. But we can’t go back. Fuck!” Beau repeats herself. Jester watches Fjord watch Beau as he leans against the wall, arms crossed. He expels a breath through his nose then turns back to the waterfall. </p><p>“It has to go somewhere, otherwise the chamber would have filled up,” he says simply. </p><p>“Yeah and we have no idea <em> where</em>.” Beau snaps immediately, rubbing her forehead angrily. </p><p>“Better somewhere than here I think,” Caduceus answers. </p><p>“I can- <em> we </em>can breathe underwater, that’s not a problem,” Fjord pushes himself off the wall. “And I think that’s our best bet.”</p><p>“What? To jump into the whirlpool of death and just <em> hope </em> that we get somewhere with it? We have no idea what’s down there, what’s awaiting. It might just be small cracks and crevices leaking the water. What if there’s lots of tunnels and we end up at a dead end, unable to get out? What if-”</p><p>“The guards come this way and kill us anyway? What if the heavens fell? What if-? Beau, I don’t think we have choices here. Essek needs our help and I would rather die trying to get out, than wait and have him die in my arms” Surprisingly it’s Yasha who ends up calming her, or at least gets through to her. Jester hesitantly finds herself nodding in agreement. </p><p>Caduceus shifts uncomfortably besides them and looks up from Essek where his focus had been for this entire time. “Give me a moment.”</p><p>They watch as he stands and stretches before placing his staff against the wall and divesting of his shield. Settling into a cross-legged position, he lifts his chin and closes his eyes. This wasn’t a typical Commune or anything. There was something- something in the way that his hair just flowed ever so slightly. Like there was a breeze. And the scent of the rotting river became less pungent and more fragrant. The moss around him didn’t shine with slime… but glowed as though illuminated by something … something new. Her hand tightened around her own holy symbol as she watched on, feeling the grooves of the imagery bevelled into it like it was the most natural thing in the world. </p><p>Not much happened on their end, but when Caduceus rejoined them a few moments later his face splits into a wide grin and Jester felt a bubble of hope rise within her at the sight. </p><p>“As much as I hate to say it, the water is our only way out.” Jester felt her own eyebrows shoot up and was sure that the others looked the same. Caduceus regarded each of them, his smile not faltering. “We can get out that way. It’s not going to be fun, or easy, but it’s doable.” </p><p>“Well I-”, Fjord stumbles. “I - for you to suggest the water is- <em> that’s big.” </em></p><p>“Yeah,” Beau agrees almost dreamily, echoing the disbelief they were all feeling. </p><p>“The Wildmother says as long as we take the left tunnel, and left again, we will reach our destination.”</p><p><em> “Oh! </em> Oh well - in that case -” Fjord starts moving earnestly, emboldened by this news. Huh. Okay. </p><p>Jester’s reverie is shaken when Fjord kneels beside her. “I need him conscious and willing for this, anyway we can wake him up a little?” he gestures to Essek, clammy and uncomfortable. </p><p>Oh! He’s asking <em> her! </em> Uh- </p><p>She reaches forward and cups Essek’s face. She grimaces at the horrible sensation of leaving her own bloodied handprints on his gaunt cheeks but she can’t wipe her hands on her dress and the water is just disgusting- </p><p>Taking a deep breath, and chafing at the pain in her throat of doing so, Jester scrunches her eyes tight and focusses, emulating Caduceus.  She just needs to… she just needs to<em> help. </em> She just needs him awake. Pulling on that pocket of power she usually does to wield magic, Jester draws upon it. She takes a single strong thread and unspools it slowly, allowing it to climb up through her body from where it sits seeded, planted deep within her. The thread, a glowing hum of energy comes with practised ease and she tugs and unwinds with great care, ready to wrap it around Essek and heal him-</p><p>Except it gets stuck. And knotted. And doesn’t move- </p><p>It sticks in her throat and she tugs, and tugs, willing it, <em> urging </em> it to continue, to leave her person and help her <em> friend- </em></p><p>
  <em> Please! </em>
</p><p>Nothing. No amount of force wills the magic forth and it snatches from her grasp, winding back and around into that little ball of power in a moment. </p><p>Her eyes snap open, her mouth opening and closing in silent desperation as no sound emanates from her, unable to complete the incantation necessary to bring her will into fruition. </p><p>Oh <em> fuck</em>. </p><p>Her panic is painted plainly over her face as she wildly looks around to Yasha to Essek to Fjord to Essek to- </p><p>“Okay, okay Jester it’s okay-” Fjord’s pulling her away gently as though calming a wild animal and Caduceus steps in her place but she’s <em> this </em> close to losing it because <em> she can’t speak- </em> she can’t <em> help! </em></p><p>He deposits her in Beau’s shushing, calming care and goes back to where Caduceus successfully rouses Essek long enough for Fjord to get Essek’s attention- </p><p>She feels the cold splash of his magic filter into her lungs as air feels sharper, cooler, heavier, murkier and it just makes her panic more and she’s trembling because she can’t <em> speak-! </em></p><p>Beau is trying to wrap her arms around her but it’s just making Jester feel more trapped and then that man is there trying to slash at her again and take out her voice and she can’t be heard she thought that giving up her hands was the worst thing but not being able to talk and help or cast or speak or sing and it’s confirmed her fears and oh gods she has to move she has to run she has to <em> breathe- </em></p><p>A fresh wave washes over her. It’s not unlike the blanket of exhaustion that’s been hovering around her the last little while, waiting to lull her to sleep. It’s cosy, and nice. Soft and secure. She stops wriggling in Beau’s arms and feels her tighten the grip around her waist. It’s not suffocating. It’s a hug. She leans into it dreamily. </p><p>“Jester, I’ve calmed your emotions for a moment. I apologise for doing so, but I didn’t want you hurting yourself” Caduceus steps in front of her. “You’re going to feel this fear again in a minute, but I want you to know that it’s okay to not be able to speak right now. We are going to heal and help you. This is not permanent. I promise.” And he just looks so kind, and soft. All pink and purple and green and lovely. She wishes she had him as a brother growing up, they would have played some <em> really </em> cool pranks, she knows it. He has super floppy ears and they could have braided hair- </p><p>“Jessie? You hearing Caduceus?” </p><p>Her head lolls a little to look around. She gives a sigh and relaxes, patting Beau’s hands. Letting go, the monk steps back a little to not crowd her. Her symbol becomes heavier, tugging at the back of her neck and willing her to look down at it. She does. In the soft glow of the staff light, it gives a little sparkle. A piece of hope. </p><p>“It’s <em> not </em>permanent. We just need you to bear it a little longer until we can get Essek to safety, all right?”</p><p>Essek. That’s right. They were here for <em> Essek</em>. </p><p>She can feel the blanket start to peel away and the rising panic and fear is climbing, scurrying, threatening to overshadow in the back of her mind but she keeps her gaze on the struggling man in Yasha’s arms as he coughs again and wills it away. </p><p>She takes a few shaky breaths and nods. They need to get away. <em> Now.  </em></p><p>Meeting the gazes of her concerned friends, she nods. Satisfied with her state of mind, and she is a little embarrassed she lost her cool like that, she helps secure rope around her and then waits for Fjord to lash Essek to Yasha’s back. It takes some manoeuvring around her swords but soon he’s splayed across her piggy-back style and secure. </p><p>All connected and tethered together, everything on their person as secure as it can be, they clasp hands and walk to the edge of the walkway they had travelled upon. </p><p>The stone did not reach where the waterfall started, so their best bet was to jump into the river and let it carry them over. Jester found she somewhat preferred this. The sensation of jumping deliberately into the unknown sent her knees wobbling like jelly as she remembers the Arbor again, and the fall into the sewers. </p><p>Her stomach gives a small whoop as they toe the line and the water splashes on her boots as it rushes by. </p><p>“We ready?” Fjord calls from the far left. He’ll be leading the group best he can to the tunnel Caduceus mentioned. Jester shakes her head but it goes unnoticed amongst the unsure murmurs. “On the count of three, then we jump. One-”  Oh no. Oh man. She can’t even hold on to her symbol because Caduceus has one hand and Yasha has the other- </p><p>“Two-”</p><p>No, no, no this was a bad idea-</p><p>“Three!” </p><p>She gets no say as her feet remain planted but she’s yanked forward anyway into the forceful current and she instinctively holds her breath as her head plummets beneath but it’s for nothing as she’s knocked into something and her air is expelled and she’s breathing in that lungful of filthy water but there’s no time to think about it because now they’re soaring over the water’s edge and she can’t even <em> scream </em> - </p><p>Her clothes stick to her as she kicks her legs and the hands aren't letting go and the rope is pulling at her waist but then she breaks water and what was just grey darkness in the cavern becomes bubbles and watery winds as they’re pulled in a direction opposite of where they want to go. Forced under by the powerful waterfall Jester can only latch on and follow, kicking and kicking and swimming as they follow Fjord- </p><p>The current pulling away shifts immediately to one pulling them <em> in </em> and Jester feels more than sees the change in the environment as they’re dragged to a new destination. The tunnel encloses around her quicker than she likes and at one point it becomes easier to let the river take her than try to swim with it. With cheeks ballooned out of life-long habit and eyes screwed shut, Jester feels helpless in this winding course, scraping along rock, sometimes bumping her elbow in the tighter bends and banging her shins on errant outcrops. She feels a sharp slicing pain across her face and has no time to panic as she’s jerked forward. </p><p>She cries out more than once, her hands losing feeling as she squeezes and squeezes, unwilling to let go even at these awkward angles. </p><p>At one point, she feels as though she’s died. </p><p>The crashing, rushing sound by her ears dulls to silence and her body just floats along in unending space with no clear destination or route. She just <em> is </em> for a time being and she just lets herself <em> be</em>. </p><p>It’s not like the time in the Happy Fun Ball, when they floated deliberately into dangerous uncertainty, no. It’s more like- </p><p>It’s more like when he sliced her throat open and her life, her vitality and self, spilled forth from her body until an inky blackness overtook her senses and then she was nothing for the longest of time. </p><p>Her body, devoid of sensation and numb with nerves, drifts and travels, unsure of where to go and just content to be guided by forces unseen. </p><p>Until she’s jerked and snapped upwards violently forcing her to come to and acknowledge that the party is now being shot at a deliberate angle where above them all she can see is a single light of Caduceus’ staff. </p><p>The current leaves them immediately, as though done with them and dropping them off like a fast mount before departing just as swiftly. Evidently this is where they’ve to go - or at least she hopes, and she follows suit best she can, weakly kicking her stiff legs. At one point Yasha comes up beside her, her hands glowing alight and she gives Jester a reassuring nod that makes her locs and hair sway so beautifully in the water. She’s mesmerising and Jester forgets to swim until Yasha pulls ahead, and takes Jester with her. Essek expels too many bubbles in a watery cough for her liking and she doubles down on some very awkward swimming. They catch up to Caduceus who no longer hold’s Fjord’s hand, but uses his other arm to pull upwards. She can see Fjord kicking ahead, his sword lit up in his hand as he barrels ahead- </p><p>Beau-! Beau manages to keep pace just behind them and makes a silly face at Jester as she passes by to get to Caduceus’ other side. </p><p>They all follow the light of Fjord, silently begging- hoping, desperately needing to get out- They don’t struggle for air they just struggle to be <em> free </em>-! </p><p>Fjord stops and Jester’s heart stops but her legs don’t and neither does her friends and they keep going catching up slowly but surely and she’s ready to hit a rock ceiling, ready to accept that they’re going to die in this horrible place-</p><p>And then her head breaks the surface and fresh air replaces the cold shock of water deep in her chest. </p><p>The clouds have obscured the moonlight, and there’s a <em> definite </em>canopy of tree overhead- </p><p>Because they made it. They were <em> outside.  </em></p><p>The ground was wet, cold, and damp by the time they swam to the edge of the pond and lay across it. Jester’s teeth chattered as she crawled- heavy, soaked, and <em> free</em>. Her breaths came in hitched puffs but was nowhere near as bad as Essek was, plastered across Yasha’s back. They cut him free of the ropes as soon as and lay him on the ground where he curls up but ultimately does nothing more than shiver, shake, and sputter water. This wasn’t good. </p><p>Caduceus was immediately on Essek in full caretaker mode while Jester just watched on weakly, her cheek pressed into the grass. If she could reach out she could boop Essek’s nose, shiny with water and sweat. She watched droplets travel down the sharpened contours of his face from his soggy hair while Caduceus fussed over him. He’d been through so much. Just a little longer Essek. Just a little longer. </p><p>“How’s he doing?” Fjord asks, low and worried. She doesn’t hear the reply but she sees the faint shake of Caduceus’ head, his long, sodden hair sticking to his coat. </p><p>Beau, who had been squatting beside Essek and Yasha, gets up and walks over to a tree to punch at it. </p><p>“Fuck! This can’t all be for <em> nothing-!” </em>She punches again, all over anger, fear, and frustration coming out in splintering bark and falling leaves. </p><p>Jester decides to reach out - and it’s strange. It’s like time slows as she feels, and then watches her hand fall away from her to extend towards the man breathing unsteadily on the forest floor. </p><p>She watches on, fascinated, as her arm gets longer and skews and warps just to travel the couple of feet between them. When she makes contact with his straight nose, she’s barely breathing. </p><p>Nothing happens when she boops him. She didn’t expect it to. But it’s confirmation that he’s <em> here</em>. He’s <em> out</em>. He’s <em> alive. </em> They did it. </p><p>They <em> did it. </em> </p><p>And that’s when they hear voices. </p><p>At first, with a burst of energy, she springs up to sitting position and rides out a wave of dizziness for doing so. She strains her ears, and wills a Zemnian accent to call out with high-pitched companion right beside it. </p><p>She should be careful what she wishes for. The voice is Zemnian alright, but it’s not Caleb and Veth. </p><p>It’s patrolling guards. </p><p>She doesn’t know what they’re saying, but it’s loud enough and nearby enough that them breaking the water surface, and then Beau’s anger management gives them direction to go to. And they were closing in. </p><p>And there’s more than two voices. She gives a cursory glance in the direction- the same as her companions are doing, and realises that this is the pond near their camp. Oh <em> fuck. </em> </p><p>Her hand was already around her symbol by reflex at this point, so when it starts to buzz a little in her grip like a group of bees, she immediately looks down. </p><p>Wait. This is the forest. Beyond the buildings. Outside the fence. </p><p>Outside the <em> wards.  </em></p><p>Essek starts to seize. </p><p>It’s an awful thing to watch someone convulse. He jerks and splays and tenses and gasps an shakes and shakes and shakes and shakes, muscles straining, blood vessels popping. He’s gasping for air and Caduceus is hovering stopping anyone from interfering but the <em> sound </em>- </p><p>It’s a keening, a whine, a growl, and a cry all at once. And it’s <em> loud</em>. </p><p>The voices, which had been getting a little further away from them in their still silence, yell out and are hastily making their way. </p><p>Fjord’s on his feet, Yasha has her sword out, Beau’s readying her stance. </p><p>And Jester’s had enough. </p><p>She hates that place with every fibre of her being. She hates the torture, the people in charge, the suffering. The damage. The cruelty. Everything. Every brick, every step, stone, and cell. Every spire and fencepost screamed obscenity at her now that she knew what lay in the bowels of that horrific place. They’ve gotten Essek out and he was <em> not </em>going back. Not while she still draws breath. </p><p>His seizure ends with a low moan and Jester crawls over to him, cradling his head in her sodden lap. She cards her fingers through his wringing-wet hair and tries to hum like she remembers her Mamma doing for her throughout her life. The hum breaks in most places but she perseveres, ignoring the rising, panicked whispers of her party as they plan to fend off their attackers. Somehow.</p><p>She’s rocking back and forth, crooning a crooked lullaby and hoping it’s enough-</p><p>She opens her eyes at a blessed sound- her friend stirring. It’s a pained sigh. It’s filled with hurt and discomfort, but it’s beautiful because it means he’s awake. </p><p>She’s getting them out of here. She had to. </p><p>Keeping her focus on the man beginning to writhe beneath her hands, Jester thinks. </p><p>She thinks of warmth, of purple wooden floors and soft, second hand rugs. She thinks of mismatched chairs at a chipped dining table. She thinks of climbing a staircase two at a time, and paintings dotted up and down the corridor she’s done. She thinks of a laboratory, not yet completed and waiting for its owner. A library that should have a cat slinking around it. A guest bedroom waiting to be filled. She thinks of an inviting kitchen, wafting beautiful, experimental aromas and bubbling cooking pots. She feels her feet wet, but with delicious, healing water in a relaxing space made their <em> own. </em>She envisions another night sky, clear and star-filled. Sunlight in jars. Soft pillows. Pyjamas and cleanliness. Safety and security. Something that’s distinctly and uniquely theirs, sticking out like a sore thumb and topped with the one-of-a-kind-tree in all of Rosohna. </p><p>When she opens her eyes, the sight of the forest still greets her- but it’s- there’s something not right about it. Caduceus is beside her, but he’s moving- </p><p>Except he’s not. </p><p>Half-crouched, he looks like he’s getting up to help the others- </p><p>Beyond them she sees four fiery torches emerging from the treeline, their flames frozen in flickering motion. Beau’s half twisted around in her stance and Jester can see a word, or a cry of some sort forming on her mouth- but no sound escapes. </p><p>The ripples on the pond they emerged from are still in their form, and there walking across the water is a familiar green-cloaked figure. A bush of bright red hair reflects light from an unseen source so it’s the clearest colour in the vicinity, and he approaches her with a reverence she’s not really experienced from him before. </p><p>He comes to her, and crouches down carefully at her side. </p><p>“My Jester,” he says, one hand reaching out to trace across her chin in worried concern. His face is smiling, but his eyes are sad. “My dearest Jester. You have been through a lot tonight.” </p><p>She nods, but then looks down at the man who’s stuck contorted in pain mid-cough. His hair parts as though in water as she moves her fingers through them again. </p><p>Artagan spares Essek a pitying glance. “Ah yes, your target-” she looks at him sharply, scowling. “Sorry- your <em> friend</em>,” he corrects. She relaxes a fraction. “He is not doing well my dear. But there’s something more important at the moment.” His tone turns serious and catches Jester’s attention fully. She releases her scowl to focus on him. </p><p>“I know what it is you will, and I wish with all my <em> divine power </em> that I could grant you this one for free but I am-” he makes a disgusted noise. “<em>Bound </em> by forces out of my control on this.” and Jester believes him. She always has. Always will. He was a trickster, a prankster and rogue. But he was her friend, and he wasn’t cruel. Not to her. Never to her. She nods, in understanding. His long fingers dance across her face- and she knows she must look an absolute state and fright to earn such a concerned look from The Traveller. He cups her cheek gently, and she lets him. “Oh my Jester, I don’t know how to get you out of this one. There’s only so much I can do.”</p><p>She looks down and gives a small smile. <em> She </em>knows what to do. She just needs to- </p><p>Meeting his emerald gaze with her sapphire one, she musters the most reassuring smile she can, and untangles one hand from Essek’s hair to pat Artagan’s. How the tables have turned for her to be doing the comforting. </p><p>He senses her resolve, immediately straightening and peering at her curiously. “What are you up to my dear?” </p><p>Behind him, Jester taps him on the shoulder. He starts, and turns around jumping at the sensation- </p><p>Before bursting out in a fit of gleeful joy. “Excellent! Yes!” Jester giggles and smiles widely. </p><p>In a moment, as though all and no time had passed, the pause comes to an end and Caduceus stands, Essek coughs, Beau cries out- </p><p>Jester looks down at Essek, barely awake but awake enough for this, and silently thanks the Traveller for his appearance. </p><p>And a second Jester approaches her initial self. Patting herself on the head, Jester, the illusion and duplicate, positions herself between all of her friends and mimics taking a lungful of air. </p><p>One word expels from her mouth. </p><p>And that word is <em> home</em>. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Word of Recall babey. </p><p>Also, and I don't mind telling you this, but <i> one chapter left </i> .</p><p>Edit: as of Ep 108, Matt miraculously made this ending 100% feasible by giving Jester's duplicate the ability to talk independently of Jester \o/ (just another reason I love 108 apart from being a phenomenal episode- the other being that my Astral Sea space art got in the reeeeeeeeeel that ep T_T T_T)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Just Like Old Times</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N: This story has been a wild ride and… man. I’m so stoked I got to share it with you all. I have learned so much from this beast of a fic and have had nothing but kind words and even stronger support from every one of you. This was something that started as a 'what-if' post on discord in early April that just spiralled on its own and I'm so glad it did. To every single one of you that Kudos'd, commented, re-read, bookmarked, subscribed, and spoke with me on Twitter or Discord about this- <i> thank you</i>.  Truly. </p><p>Be sure to continue to the next chapter afterwards for the Epilogue &lt;3 Cers xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Caleb and Nott. Nott and Caleb. </p><p>Their history was patched, and rough, but coloured with delightful little moments, and clever little schemes. </p><p>Conning and trickery had been their way for so long that to be <em> this </em> long without it was not something she foresaw a year ago. The Mighty Nein straightened them out in the roughest, kindest of ways- but they were still Nott and Caleb, Caleb and Nott at heart when it was just the two of them. Halfling or Not(t). </p><p>Turning her back on her friends was difficult- but necessary. She could see that, Caleb could see that. Fjord, Yasha, and Caduceus did too. Eventually Beau did- with persuasion. Jester and Essek needed out of there. </p><p>Essek he- </p><p>No. Later. </p><p>
  <em> Later.</em>
</p><p>Turning her back on her friends was difficult, yes, but all of that turmoil fled her when Caleb leaned down and whispered <em> ‘Slip’n’Slide’</em>. </p><p>It was an adaptation on their old graft, called the same, one they hadn’t tried yet. Twisting the ring at her finger, she gave him an enthusiastic nod and then they were off-!</p><p>And it worked <em> perfectly. </em></p><p>She smiled- wide and whole. Honestly, she shouldn’t have been enjoying this as much as she was. There were guards after them, their path was unclear, territory <em> beyond </em> hostile. They were separated from their friends at the most fragile moment possible, and in one of the most dangerous facilities and estates in the <em> entire </em> Dwendalian Empire whilst attempting their biggest <em> gamble, </em> and Veth was <em> smiling</em>. </p><p>No, she was <em> grinning</em>. Laughing almost, if not for the ragged pants of her breathing as she pushed and pushed her lungs with every stride. </p><p>Maybe it was that their friends were going to get away safe. </p><p>Maybe it was that they actually <em> succeeded </em>in their mission, and just barely escaped a terrifying laboratory fight. </p><p>Maybe it was the fact that Jester was alive when she had been so, <em> so </em> still on that floor. Veth daren’t look down at the deep patches of red soaked deep into her yellow dress. Not yet. </p><p>Maybe… maybe it was her boots pounding on the stone stairs, climbing and sprinting, wet footprints of sewer scum drying in her swift shadow.</p><p>Maybe it was the clamor of angry guards on their heel, giving rise to a specific rush of adrenaline she hasn’t felt in a long, <em> long </em>time. </p><p>Maybe it was the familiar legs- no longer clad in tatty rags and dirty clothes - striding upwards ahead of her two steps at a time. </p><p>Maybe it was the flame of hair, longer now, and cleaner, loose and free above her as they climbed and climbed. </p><p>Yeah. Maybe.</p><p>Just like old times. </p><p>She couldn’t remember the last time it was just them, on the run, turning this way and that through winding spaces and bricked walls. She trusted Caleb instinctively to know where to take them- doubly so now because of his history here. She followed without question. </p><p>Their distraction- Slip’n’Slide- was an old one reskinned. Previously it involved Caleb about turning and charging into their startled pursuers while she darted around them in their panic. Now it involved him transforming into a giant, red ape and launching himself at them. Loaded with bolts and who knows what else, Caleb had held form long enough to get ahead of her and up to the door the soldiers left open coming down to follow. </p><p>Where they pounded up the curling stairs quick as they could go- how fucking far had they fallen this was ridiculous-? Belatedly she fumbled as she went, jostling her belt and button necklace to pull out something they’ll need at the top- </p><p>Which was now. </p><p>Caleb slowed and only reflexes of a long time on the run together taught her what that looked like at a glance. Coming to a brief pause and hearing the difference in the air (for the echo behaved differently at the end of a corridor she had long learned) she anxiously waited for him to check beyond the doorway, all while hearing the din behind them grow louder on the winding stairwell. Silently giving the all clear, he slid through the door and barely gave enough time for her to do the same before he slammed it shut and started spellcasting-</p><p>“Don’t bother-!” and she thrust her dagger into the keyhole as far as she could, violently turning it just in time to hear- to <em> feel </em> the pounding of metallic hands on the other side bang. Losing grip on the dagger at the last second, it clattered to the floor in her fright but the door held, seemingly applied in time. Unwilling to wait to see if they could dislodge the door, she picked up the dagger and-</p><p>Couldn’t move. Her dress was caught in the door frame. Giving an aggravated growl, she <em> pulled </em>and ripped it, leaving the bloodied fabric in her wake. </p><p>Caleb was already striding left down the corridor. <em> Need to put space between them need to get away need to not be seen need to get away- </em></p><p>A mantra, familiar and long-unspoken flits through her mind. It occurs to her this is her first <em> real </em> chase since being a goblin and… and she’s <em> glad </em>it still has that same level of danger it had after they stole a loaf of bread or book all that time ago. </p><p>Resheathing her dagger, Veth jogged to catch up and peered around. The smell of burning smoke hit her as soon as they came onto the level, but seemed to be from behind- meaning that they were walking away from the laboratory and … whatever the fuck that was with the now-dead drow. </p><p>She… tries not to think too hard on her actions in that particular room. </p><p>No longer supporting long ears, she was straining over her heavy breathing to listen for any sort of oncoming threat. The walls here were much like before- older, aged, curved. The scaffolding from before didn’t appear to reach this deep into the level and she figured that a good thing meaning that it was less likely to be occupied. She hoped. </p><p>Whether Caleb thought the same thing she didn’t know. His face was pulled into a focussed scowl and staring straight ahead, attention fully in the moment. Unlike herself. </p><p>A fucking <em> lot </em> had happened in the past hour alone and she was barely keeping up with it all. From his calmly delivered fireball to his murderous expression at that doctor… Veth wasn’t going to lie, he <em> scared </em> her. </p><p>Caleb <em> never </em> scared her. </p><p>She… she always <em> knew </em> he had a darker streak. He never hid his love of fire and how it felt. She knew that. She <em> admired </em> that about him, in fact. It was one of many reasons she was drawn to him. But earlier… seeing him with those sharp tools, watching him fondly reminisce about what it was to hold … to <em> use </em>them. </p><p><em> That </em> was a Caleb she didn’t know. Tonight had shown her a man she <em> didn’t know</em>. They had been through a lot together. Thicker than thieves, ironically. Thicker than family, almost. Their ups, sure enough, were starting to well outweigh their downs, especially since forming and joining the Mighty Nein. </p><p>But tonight- </p><p>No, she didn’t have time for this. Got to keep her head. Got to think straight. Her hand is already idly hovering at an absent space at her belt as they briskly walk along. She curses under her breath- for the lack of a flask or that she automatically went for it, she doesn’t know. </p><p>A junction meets them. Caleb stops. He looks left, then right. Then left again. </p><p>He goes right. </p><p>Without question she follows. </p><p>Just like old times.</p><p>She knew this place was going to fuck with him, they all did. But they severely underestimated just how much. It’d been just over three weeks since they returned to find Essek missing and that was enough to send him into a spiral so twisting that even <em> she </em>could see it. </p><p>Finding out Essek was in the hands of the Assembly? Even worse. </p><p>Finding out he was <em>here, </em>of all fucking places? She watched as though time slowed just to <em>let her</em> <em>witness it</em> as he shut down every emotional outlet he had to pull all of his energy and drive into a lone focus. </p><p>She had seen Caleb work before. She <em> knew </em> what he was like in a single-direction tunnel. He wouldn’t come out of it for days, or - or even <em> weeks </em>at his worst. His nose would be in books, his hand would be petting Frumpkin absently, and his mind would be away from reality for however long until he was done. </p><p>That was fine. That was <em> Caleb</em>. Dedicated, hungry...fanatical even. It was <em> his </em>addiction and she wasn’t going to ever deprive him of that. </p><p>But the last three weeks had been terrifying for he did <em> none </em>of that. The last time he read a book was in the City Offices in Rexxentrum and he has mistreated them poorly, from what Beau told her. He had barely looked or spoken to Frumpkin apart from sending him scouting. </p><p>His mind never left the now for a second. </p><p>Except for when he was shoving a burst of fire down a guard’s open mouth-</p><p>Except for when he was watching the burning remains of those soldiers dissolve and collapse- </p><p>Except for when he was clutching the scientist’s arm and withering it away like it was flash paper- </p><p>Except for… when Essek woke up for his attention- </p><p>Except for when Caleb approached a collapsed elf in Yasha’s arms and brushed away his hair in a gesture so <em> tender </em>even Veth had to look away. </p><p>Another junction. They go straight ahead. It’s darker here, no more lit torches. A single globule lights the way. Definitely one of the hardly-used aspects of this facility. Corridors were still lined with barred doors, dirty and rusted, waiting for occupants though. </p><p>How busy had this place <em> been </em>during the war all those centuries ago?</p><p>The stonework was a lot frailer here, chipped and crumbling. Rocks and debris shifted at their footsteps. Darkness swallowed the sounds, disallowing echo in these depths. The air was dry, musty. Disused. Old. </p><p>She sticks just a little closer to her old friend, sorely missing one aspect of being goblinkin in this lightless place. </p><p>She hopes it was enough, their distraction. She hopes they got away. </p><p>Jester was <em> not </em> in a good place at all, and she’s glad Caleb made Beau see that. For all Beau and Fjord had points about splitting up, there was <em> no </em>way they were fighting out of that one. At her quick glance running on the sewer river around the group- there had been about six militia and two possible spellcasters given their lack of immediately noticeable melee weapons. She thinks they all gave chase to her and Caleb. If not then at least whittling down the numbers would help give them a fighting chance. </p><p>She thinks of how Jester gave her a lopsided grin, all bloodied in the teeth and bruised in the eyes. Absently, Veth swats at her nose a little, still feeling the fingerprint of drying blood planted there by her dear friend. It had broken Veth’s heart seeing her so utterly beaten and brutalised. For all Caleb had scared her with how he dealt with the doctor, a not-so-secret part of Veth wishes he had been just a little crueler.</p><p>Who was she kidding. </p><p><em> A lot </em> fucking crueler. </p><p>A corner greets them, they follow it right. It’s shorter, this corridor. She has no idea what distance they’ve covered or for how long they’ve been walking now. Caleb would know. Caleb always knows. But she daren’t break this silence. </p><p>This darkness they travelled… something about it shook Veth. It impressed upon them much like a - well like a<em> press. </em> She felt as though it was squeezing in on her a little more the further they went in, narrowing so slowly that they wouldn’t notice until it was right upon them. She feared they were walking and walking and would never stop walking, already caught in its labyrinthine tract. </p><p>Darkness was a curious thing for Veth. Before … Before <em> Nott </em> she hadn’t really ever experienced it before- never really in a situation <em> to </em> experience it before. In Felderwin there was always moonlight, or lamplight, or torchlight to alleviate her. And even then, on those darkest of nights when the curtains were closed and the door shut over, she had her husband close by, whispering in her ear and keeping a bodily hold of her in ways she’s happy to be reliving again recently. </p><p>But becoming Nott changed that. Suddenly she was in deep caves and deeper mountains. Crossing borders and experiencing artificial shadows. But Nott could <em> see </em> through most of that- at least for a distance. Even just outlines of shapes and her surroundings helped maintain her sense of place. </p><p>But now, as Veth again and in these Nott-like situations, she was very much in new territory. Caleb- accustomed to this, strode with purpose and sense of direction, unaware of her plight. Those faint, grey hints of <em> things </em> were no longer hers to cling to and work around- as evidenced when she catches her boot on a hard, stubborn tree root and nearly tumbles to the ground. </p><p>Caleb doesn’t even slow as she rights herself, scurrying to catch up. </p><p>Part of this was like old times. Part of this was like even older times. The rest was brand new and she wasn’t sure she was liking it much. Not here. Not now.  </p><p>Onwards this darkness stretched for a little while longer. Their breathing long slowed to a steady huff as they marched, she couldn’t fathom the distance they had covered. They’d scouted the grounds out a little- the mountain giving them a solid upper overview of the compound, but she didn’t think it went this far. </p><p>Or maybe they were going in circles and spirals and swirls and they’d never know because they weren’t <em> really </em> ever getting out of here because for all Caleb had been spending the last few years in the outer world under the sky he had never <em> really </em> left this place had he? Always so tethered to it, always in his shadow, looming, lurking, waiting, calling him back, reminding him he was actually still <em> here </em> and not truly free of it because look how easily he fell back into the role of violent acts and intimidation without mercy it was like he really had never ever fucking left and now she was stuck with him just another prisoner just another cellmate just like old times when they first met in that <em> fucking jail </em>except now there was no moonlight to show them the way or each other-</p><p>They reach a door. </p><p>There’s a corridor branching off to the right again at this corner, but she realises now, thinking back through her watery memories of the last- however the fuck long they’d been down here that she hadn’t actually <em> seen </em>any more doors. </p><p>Exiting the sewer stairwell, following the curve, seeing the first junction, there’d been handfuls of them- all cells and cages. But at some point, delving deeper into this maze they’d just… stopped. She hadn’t even noticed until there was one right in front of her again. </p><p>She fucking hates this place. It had thrown her off so much, confused and insulted them in the most despicable of ways. The people here were fucking awful, but this place, this <em> hell- </em> it was alive in a way too and she felt <em> hunted. </em> </p><p>Caleb leans in to listen at the door- Veth reckons he didn’t need to. She imagines they could hear a pin drop at the opposite end of the corridor in this oppressive blackness. Or maybe not. There could be a cascade of pins just falling and falling in a dangerous phenomena and they’d never hear it because this darkness, this hungry, thirsty dark consumed all. Maybe even them and they didn’t know it- </p><p>Despite watching him press against the door, she still jumps at the first new sound when he jiggles the rusted handle confirming its status- locked but loose. Reactively she steps back knowing his next move. </p><p>When they first met he was a scrawny thing- barely any meat on his bones. He was more puffy, stolen, dirty coat than he was human back then. Now, stripped down to his tunic, no overclothes, she can see how much he’s filled out. How <em> healthy </em> and <em> fit </em>he is after a year with the Nein, eating better and exercising. </p><p>Back when it was just the two of them, Caleb could ram a door like this down in two or three tries. His shoulder might dislocate or be bruised for the next few days, but he managed it. </p><p>Now he simply takes a step back, imitating Jester not too long ago, plants his weight on his front leg and lifts his hind boot. With one swift kick the door all but splinters open- the rusted lock no defence against the force that Caleb is right now. </p><p>Veth can’t help but be impressed and terrified. As if that’s not the flavour of the night for her already. </p><p>They wait, and wait. Letting the dust settle they hold for any miniscule sign of movement, recognition or disturbance. On the other side is another stairwell- only going up. Hopefully this was a good sign and that their escape was imminent. </p><p>On some unseen signal, or perhaps just satisfied no one heard, Caleb kicks a few more splinters away from the bottom of the door and climbs over, starting his ascent and taking his single globe with him. Veth follows. Just like old times. </p><p>This stairwell isn’t as long as the previous one they scaled, nor as wide. Technically they could have fit side-by-side in the ones connecting the sewers, but this one felt much more intimate- single file only. </p><p>Maybe it used to be bigger, wider, taller. Maybe. But this place just consumed it and trimmed it down into this squeeze of a flight of stairs over time like it does to everything and anything within the cursed walls of its confines. </p><p><em> Fuck. </em>This place was so much more cursed than Bazzoxan or the King’s Cage or anywhere else they had been and it was all human-made. Somehow that just added to the terror factor that mortals could create something this... <em> crippling. </em> </p><p>The door at the top of the stairs was a lot sturdier than its bookending counterpart. And also locked. Jiggling it reveals that a simple kick will not do the job this time. And jiggle he does. At first it’s a brief wiggle of the round handle, testing its strength. Then it’s a harder shake. Then it’s two-handed- then it’s frantic, then it’s stuck and it’s not moving and it’s <em> properly locked </em> and Caleb is gasping and panting-</p><p>To Veth’s surprise, Caleb just slides down the wall and slumps on the top stair. The globe drifts a little lower with him and she sees the sweat beading on his forehead. </p><p>“A mental inventory tells me we are out of picks, acid, and magic to immediately bypass this.” He spits out a bitter chuckle. “Defeated by a door. In a prison.” His expression twists dark. “The irony is not lost upon me.”</p><p>He doesn’t so much as look at her, as though he’s more speaking aloud than to any present company. </p><p>‘Defeated’, he said. He was defeated. <em> By a door. </em> </p><p>She almost chides him. It’s right there- on the tip of her tongue. Every grievance, every thread of anger, and fear, and <em> hatred </em> she’s held onto in this place almost comes spilling out of her just because he was beaten <em> by a fucking door- </em> </p><p>But the light is shining dimly on those glassy eyes and she realises with a start he isn’t really <em> here </em> anymore. Not with her. Certainly not in this stairwell. He’s elsewhere. Another prison so tightly locked that she can’t immediately get to him- his <em> mind. </em> His focus finally succumbed. Probably slowly nibbled at and gnawed upon in little chunks throughout their dark trek this last however-long. His mouth is slightly slack as he stares at nothing- at something - just <em> beyond </em>the door. Something she can’t see. </p><p>Something she never will. </p><p>He spent over a decade of his life in these walls at least. How much time of that was him sat just … <em> staring </em> at a door he couldn’t bypass? Couldn’t open and walk through of his own choice?</p><p>All the fight and frustration leaves with her next breath and she looks at this obstacle. </p><p>Fine. Fucking <em> fine. </em> She couldn’t reach him in his head, but she certainly wasn’t going to leave him here in a dingy, dirty, old stairwell.</p><p>All but kicking his long, folded legs out of the way (to which he gives into a little <em> too </em>easily without complaint), Veth approaches the door. </p><p>It was unremarkable, but of course the wood wasn’t really the problem. They <em> could </em> try to burn it, but there was little on them to catch fire with and the stairwell would probably fill with smoke first. No. The problem was the <em> lock.  </em></p><p>He was right, they had little left on their persons to tinker with. She feels around her belt anyway. Buttons jangle on her wrists- no use. Water skin? Nup. Bolts? Too thick. The dagger was usual for <em> locking </em> but not <em> unlocking- </em> though maybe…</p><p>She takes it out anyway. It was a longish blade- not too unlike the one Caleb handled earlier in the evening in that storage room. Stiletto-like. Worth a shot. She slots the blade in the thick keyhole, takes a deep breath, and turns. </p><p>It doesn’t budge. </p><p>She tries again. </p><p>Barely a degree of give. </p><p>Nothing. </p><p>The other way-?</p><p>
  <em> Fuck. </em>
</p><p>Doesn’t work on locked items. She knew that. She did. But maybe she could have double-locked it? Overridden the lock? She doesn’t fucking know. Either way it didn’t<em> work. </em>Irritably she withdraws it and sheathes it. </p><p>She has a small pouch of gunpowder and a wizard willing to ignite- would that be too much? Too loud? They were trying to <em> escape </em>. Attention was the last thing they needed and for all she knows there’s an unknown time until an unknown unit of guards track them down from behind. </p><p>Maybe a last resort. <em> Maybe. </em> </p><p>She crouches to peer through the hole and sees fuck all. Of course she does-</p><p>Wait. </p><p>Turning her cheek to the hole she feels- </p><p>Crouching further, she runs her hand along the tiny seam separating floor and door. Airflow! Cooler! Fresh! This is good, this is the right way. This means they don’t have to go back. Okay. Come on, Brenatto think! You got to get your boy out of this shithole and it’s going to be through here. Show him that it’s just a fucking <em> door</em>. </p><p>Parched, and a bit warm from the exertion and proximity to human-fireplace Caleb Widogast, she takes a sip of her water- and stops. </p><p>No… </p><p>Maybe? </p><p>She takes <em> a sip </em> before uttering a trivial spell. The water comes flowing out of the skin like a little clear snake. <em> Surely </em>this- well let’s try it, she thinks. </p><p>Crouching to eye level with the lock she peers through, attempting to estimate the approximate dimensions. She’s picked enough locks in her time to gauge their make, their designs. This one didn’t seem arcane in nature thankfully, just a simple door lock to ward off the darkness that dwelled down here. She could easily envision its make up in her mind. </p><p>Feeling shakily confident, Veth slides the water in through the slot and exerts her will so delicately that she’s barely breathing. Once it’s inside, and to the length she thinks she needs, she gives a small jut of her chin and the water expands <em> just </em> a fraction. She feeds a trickle into the hole to fill it out a bit, ignoring the few drops now puddling at the top stair, and leans forward, holding her breath. Staring, daring not to break this fragile contact- she freezes the water and lets go of the spell. </p><p>It holds. </p><p>Glee overcomes her and she’s giddy with progress. Her buttons rattle with her little shaking dance and she turns to smile at Caleb- </p><p>Who is still staring into the void. </p><p>Right. Okay. Focus. Come on Vethy. Turning back to her venture, Veth reaches out. Having left enough frozen water outside of the hole to grab onto, she hovers her hand on the icicle -</p><p>Nope. No. Nope. Nuh-uh. She wipes the sweat from her hands, clammy from concentrating. Okay come on!. </p><p>Reaching once more she … finally holds the frozen key and gives it a turn. </p><p>The handle snaps off immediately. </p><p>“FUCK!” </p><p>A crack forms on the rest of it and she can hear the small splinters and fractures happening inside. Pissed off, but not put off, she reattaches another handle, slightly stronger and bigger for better torque, and tries again. </p><p>The whole thing shatters, leaving silvery shards glistening where the faint globe light touches it. The string of colourful curses that leave her lips is lengthy. </p><p>Determined, but not deterred, Veth attempts twice more, improving on the internal strength of the frozen key best she can by delicately packing it with dense water and slowly freezing as she goes. </p><p>It’s a long, <em> long </em> process. Long enough that she fears that the first part of the water might unfreeze before she’s done. Each spring requires a particular amount of pressure to unlock, and using every sense in her body, every memory and experience she’s ever had with locks, she feels as though she’s physically inside this fucking mechanism weighing down each pin personally <em> just </em> the right amount. In her mind’s eye, now that her vision has narrowed down to this dark pinprick of a fucking hole, she can see plain as day the shape of the key required. In fact when it breaks the first couple of times, she’s able to recreate, with increasing accuracy, the shape of the first-half of the key on first try give or take a hair’s breadth or so. </p><p>So when the final spring gives that blessed <em> click! </em> She can hardly believe it. Not willing to waste a moment she delicately coats one- no <em> two </em> more layers of thin ice to toughen the whole thing up and then extends out for a proper key handle. </p><p>Breathing heavily, the back of her head sore with tension, her shoulders hunched and arms almost cramping from such delicate directing of the water for so long, Veth wipes down her clammy hands again. </p><p>Moment of truth. </p><p>Unwilling to wait any longer in case the spell gives, she turns the key- and unlocks the door. </p><p>There’s only one sound more blessed than the unbolting of this fucking lock, and to her that was the first cry of her only child. </p><p>Tears gathered in her eyes she looks to the man on the floor to find him staring at the door in disbelief. Just to prove that he heard right, she gives the door a delicate push- and it gives way an inch. Two inches. Fresh air spills in and coats them, freezes the sweat she’s definitely stinking up and shifting the loose curtain of hair that had befallen Caleb’s face as he sunk in his despair. </p><p>She almost laughs, but it dies in her throat when he speaks. </p><p>“Nott the Brave, you are a very, very clever goblin.”</p><p>The overwhelming joy she feels at her triumph plummets into something complicated and knotted. Initially there’s that disappointment - that haunting, harrowing feeling that he’s still not quite here, still not seeing <em> her</em>. It hurts. It stings. In fact it fucking <em> burns. </em>And that laugh she chokes on turns into a twisted nettled orb of a sob stuck in her chest. But she swallows it down as he stands to push the rest of the door open and go past her. </p><p>The other half of the strange emotion she feels is… familiarity. She does kinda miss him saying things like that to her. He’s more respectful now, in a… held-at-arm’s-length sort of distance. A formal distance. Like he’s <em> aware </em> she’s a woman now. Something she always felt he never really saw her as when she was Nott. And that just dredges up a whole kettle of fish she isn’t ready to deal with. </p><p>But the initial familiarity. That-... that feels like old times. </p><p>Shaking herself and patting herself sharply on the cheeks, she takes an almighty, earned swig of her water and follows the man walking ahead in a daze. </p><p>This corridor isn’t so long either, and the brickwork is definitely newer she’s pleased to see. They don’t walk too long until they come to another decision. A door on their left, or a door straight ahead. </p><p>She was so sick of fucking doors and she was <em> not </em>  doing that again <em> -  </em></p><p>Caleb crouches down and places his hand on the ground. She peers round and sees him frowning. Straining, she can’t hear anything but them. He takes out his own water flask and pours a little out in front of him, watching the puddle closely. It’s small, and he brings his globe down to inspect its behaviour, but the water does start to slide along towards the door ahead of them. </p><p>He mutters a few words in Zemnian to himself. Veth picks up on a couple and after a moment recognises ‘down’, but that’s about it. He stands, drinks long from his own skin, then turns to the other door. </p><p>This one is <em> not </em> locked. And after peering and checking inside, she cannot fathom <em> why </em> it’s not locked- </p><p>Because they’ve been here before. </p><p>The first thing that hits her, before her eyes even adjust, is that there’s that smell of burning. It’s not the burning of an embering fire or alchemical potion brewing, no. It’s… it’s the aftermath of a lightning strike, sharp and clear. It’s faint though. Not as strong as it was the last time. </p><p>There’s no beacon on a stand in the middle of the room now, but there is certainly itinerary that was decidedly missing when they last stood in this laboratory. The doused chandelier above gives a little tinkle, almost acknowledging their presence, but aside from that the room is deserted. </p><p>With forethought, Veth almost closes their door they came in, but decides to leave it open in case they need a quick retreat or to listen for anyone coming from behind. </p><p>Caleb’s already looking around the room in awe. </p><p>The same alchemical setup sits idle, and she has to bite her cheek at the professional quality of it all once more. It gleans, almost winking at her as she itches to touch, to <em> take. </em> And <em> oh </em> how she wishes to take so badly. It was the same downstairs in the <em> other </em> lab with it strange arcane additions. She thrusts her hands into the folds of her abused dress to keep her hands from handling anything she shouldn’t. </p><p>Caleb halts at the bookcases, seemingly lacking the self-discipline she was able to display in a bizarre role reversal. Previously empty, suspiciously so, they now sat filled to the brim. </p><p>Veth almost hisses when two more globes join its companion. With one last mournful look at all the beautiful, intricate alchemical equipment, Veth skirts around the tables to join him. </p><p>To say he was awed would be an understatement. Once more his jaw was slack and eyes glued- but this time there was a consciousness, an awareness and reverence giving life to his expression as one hand hovers, eager to touch-</p><p>“Caleb!” she hisses. “<em>Caleb, </em> we have no idea if this stuff is trapped or- or alarmed or something-!” </p><p>For the first time, she thinks he hears her because he does actually pause in his perusal. It’s a small, juddering motion as he stops, and a tugging at his brow as he processes the warning. Grimly, he drops his hand.</p><p>She hates this. Any other time she’s been fucking <em> more </em> than happy to help him get books. And here were gods-knows how many tomes he should just <em> take</em>. But they were being actively hunted and she hated to hound him- </p><p>“I don’t - I didn’t prepare my Vault today,” he states, regret heaped onto the words. <em> “Mist.”  </em></p><p>Yeah. Yeah, she feels that. </p><p>It doesn’t stop his eyes flicking over every title, every spine though as they slowly walk up towards the exit. She glances to the centre of the floor, where the beacon had been propped up last time. There’s no indication it was ever here, no grooves in the floor, nothing. </p><p>She’s so distracted she walks straight into his hip. </p><p>“I’m taking this one.” Without preamble, before she can stop him- Caleb unsheathes a single book and tucks it into his tunic. Veth doesn’t move. She expected the ground to open up- the bookcase to eat them alive - the door to charge open- <em> anything</em>. </p><p>But...nothing. </p><p>This...doesn’t feel <em> right. </em> </p><p>But she’s no time to ruminate because Caleb’s already going for the door and sure enough, that one is <em> also </em> unlocked- </p><p>“Caleb I’m not sure-” He’s already out in the corridor, two of the globes extinguished. “Fuck!” Veth jogs after him, cursing his long stride. </p><p>Familiar stairs wind their ways upwards and Caleb’s already climbing two at a time. She’s puffing and panting to catch up because who knows what the fuck awaits them- </p><p>Nothing. Nothing is fucking waiting. </p><p>She hates this. This doesn’t feel right. They’d been in this building before and while the security hadn’t been super high-alert level, the fact that it was practically empty now really disarms her. But Caleb doesn’t care, he’s already walking that same route they had only a few weeks prior to the waiting room - </p><p>And right into the familiar form of Eodwulf. </p><p>He still wore that dark outfit and cut an imposing figure and Veth was already swinging out her crossbow and loading it in her startled shock- </p><p>But a hand at her direction stays her actions. </p><p>“‘Wulf,” Caleb starts. His entire body language screams ‘defensive’ and yet he does <em> nothing. </em>Veth flits her gaze to their next obstacle, tightening her grip on the Tinkertop and readying just in case he tries anything. “‘Wulf I-”</p><p>“They’re looking for you.”</p><p>Caleb simply nods. <em> What the fuck- </em></p><p>“You broke free a prisoner.”</p><p>Another nod, slower this time. “A friend. Ja.”</p><p>The scourger looks down. His arms had been crossed, standing sentinel at the closed exit doors that would take them outside, but at this answer he unfolds them. And takes a step forward. Veth swings up her crossbow- but Caleb steps in front of her-! </p><p>“Caleb for <em> fuck-” </em></p><p>“‘Wulf listen to me, we mean you no harm, we just want to escape. If our friendship meant anything to you-”</p><p>“You cannot leave this way.” Veth <em> feels </em>more than sees the way Caleb stiffens. She sees the slight glowing of the hand behind his back as he starts to slowly weave the somatics to cast. </p><p>“‘Wulf I’d rather not hurt you-”</p><p>Veth jumps at the laugh that escapes the other man’s mouth. He’s a big man, broad and <em> built</em>. Under any other circumstance she may even find him very attractive, but right now he’s their biggest threat and she doesn't have many bolts left. She sidesteps to Caleb’s other side and back a little. Eodwulf notices the movement, she sees, but does nothing. </p><p>“You always did pick fights you couldn’t win,” Eodwulf states plainly. </p><p>Veth pulls the trigger and it slides just under his arm in a blurred movement so fast she wasn’t sure she saw him actually <em> move-? </em></p><p>She stares at where the bolt is embedded in the waiting room chair. <em> How did she miss? </em> She had a clean shot-? In fact she’s so slow to react that she forgets to reload in her confusion and doesn't realise that- </p><p>That Eodwulf isn’t fighting back. “What-?” she starts.</p><p>“You cannot leave this way,” he simply repeats, but aims it at Caleb only, taking another step forward. Caleb stands his ground, the glow in his hand fizzling out. “The patrols on the grounds have doubled out front. You won’t get far.” She notices this is the most words he’s ever said in their presence and that his accent is almost thicker than Caleb’s. </p><p>“Climb the stairs to the third floor, first door on the left. There’s a window that you can scale down if you have the means.” Veth reloads swiftly, but doesn’t take aim. The two are sharing something- something <em> silent </em>and private between them that she can’t make out in this light or angle. But then Caleb is nodding. </p><p>“Thank you. Friend,” he whispers. </p><p> Eodwulf nods. “For old time’s sake. But <em> only </em>this once.” </p><p>“Old time’s sake,” Caleb repeats. And he clasps Eodwulf’s forearm, receiving the same in return before detaching and backing up. </p><p>“Come on, Nott.” Veth doesn’t take her eyes off the scourger even as she starts to follow. So when Eodwulf softly calls out, she doesn’t see Caleb’s reaction. </p><p>“And Bren? Try to stay out of trouble.”</p><p>The globe went with Caleb, so she can’t really see Eodwulf’s expression in the dark, but she’s not sure how genuine that statement is. </p><p>Hearing Caleb get further and further away, she has to risk it. Reluctantly dropping sight on their unlikely ally, Veth stows her crossbow and sets off in a sprint to catch up. If he heard his ‘old friend’s’ parting words then he doesn’t give any immediate indication. </p><p>Caleb is disturbingly familiar with the layout of this tower as he takes her through winds and bends. For all it was not <em> too </em> big a building, it was certainly packed. They passed numerous doors that she feared would all fly open and tens and dozens of guards would pour out of. </p><p>This was too easy. It all felt <em> too easy</em>. What trap were they waltzing into? Should they really be trusting a fucking <em> scourger? </em>Nearly fifteen or twenty years had passed since those two had seen each other- why should he let Caleb go?</p><p>She doesn’t get her answer as they ascend to the third floor finally, and find the object of their direction. Bolting inside without even checking for traps - she was going to kill him personally after this she <em> swears- </em> or anything, he once again nearly closes the door on her in his hurry. Yes escape was in sight but he needed to calm the fuck <em> down- </em></p><p>She’s heard of ‘be careful what you wish for’ but never has it had such an immediate effect as right this second when they turn around. </p><p>The room is pretty barren, with one curved outer wall and sure enough, an unbarred window letting in faint moonlight. But there’s almost… a <em> deliberate </em>spot light placed on the centre of the chamber. </p><p>Beneath it, bolted to the floor in a grotesque manner of implication, is a chair. </p><p>As far as she can tell from here it’s made of wood. <em> Sturdy </em> wood at that. Long-lasting. Not-easily-broken. It’s very plain, not ornate at all. Thick legs, thick back and arms. </p><p>And leather straps unbuckled around the latter. In fact, straining her eyes, she sees a glint of metal that isn’t the bolts tucked just behind the front legs too. </p><p>A chair made for restraint. A chair bolted to the floor. A chair made for torture. A chair-</p><p>That Caleb hasn’t stopped staring at since he turned around. </p><p>Veth has seen Caleb scared. She saw him cower before killing Lorenzo. She’s seen him fold in on himself for being a <em> disgusting person</em>. She’s seen him at his absolute worst- or so she thought. </p><p>Never has she seen him pale so fast and so <em> devoid of colour. </em>Never has she seen him tremble, and shake so much that his dancing light gives weak flickers of giving out. Never has she seen him with eyes so wide- not even confronted with the most magical sky in Xhorhas. </p><p>“Caleb!” She cries as he frantically starts to tear into his own sleeves. The motions - familiar yet noticeably absent the last few months - are recognisable enough to her as him scratching his scars. But this is so much more. He’s <em> attacking </em>them with such a vehement violence that she has to take a few steps back in her fright. </p><p>He’s almost foaming with the jerkiness of his actions and the sobs are just choking him as they catch in his throat and she can’t do <em> anything </em>to go near him in this rabid state-</p><p>So when he abruptly stops with a cry and pulls his hand away to - to <em> look </em>at it and they both see a sharp gash of blood splitting across his palm- </p><p>Shaken, he looks down at his torn sleeve. And then unbuttons it. Pulls forth a- </p><p>The dagger. The one from the silver tray down stairs. He - he <em> took it? </em>Was that what he had at the man’s throat earlier-?</p><p>Veth looks at the man she called her best friend. </p><p>His hair is a halo of wildfire in his frenzy. Expression is distressed and pinched and distraught and tired all at once. Blood pours from the wound in his hand and it drips to the floor in a steady stream from his torn and ragged sleeves and he holds aloft the deadliest blade she’s ever really seen- more of a long needle than dagger- just...just <em> staring </em> at it and staring piecing together something she can’t figure out and she’s <em> frightened </em> as to what she’s going to do … to what <em> he’s </em> going to do because she doesn’t <em> know </em> this Caleb- this man… this Bren that keeps calling her ‘Nott’ when she’s <em> not Nott anymore </em> - </p><p>The cry that she’d been holding back, begging not to draw his attention, escapes her lips when the blade clatters to the floor and rolls away a little. His hands drop as though the weight of them too much to bear anymore, and his shoulders sag with the age-weary tiredness of a man twice his age. </p><p>His lips dart out to taste the salt of the tears streaming by his cheek and he’s never looked so … so <em> exhausted </em>as he does right now. </p><p>She fucking hates this place <em> so much</em>. So <b> <em>fucking much</em></b>. It has literally sucked the life and soul completely out of her dearest friend and companion, chewed him up and spat him back out into this husk of a broken man. </p><p>She watches in silence as he all but stumbles towards the chair. He looks <em> drunk. </em> She’d almost find it funny if she wasn’t already shaking with sobs. </p><p>His hands swing forward to clutch the arms of that chair. He throws all of his body weight onto it as he locks his elbows to save him falling completely. She starts towards him but holds back at the last second as he sets his feet. </p><p>His head is bowed, face completely obscured by shoulder and hair as he stares. Even from this short distance she can see the whites of his knuckles as he grasps this contraption. </p><p>“I.” he starts. And chokes. And coughs. “I would… sit. In this chair.”</p><p>Veth says nothing, watching. She cannot help but nosily glance at the object of his torment. The arms are not as whole as she initially thought. There are grooves at the ends of the arms. Four. Long. Lines. Like… Like something blunt being dragged, Like nails scratching and raking... Begging <em>escape</em>. She looks away, nauseous. Waiting. It is a long moment before he continues. </p><p>“I would sit. In this chair. For <em> hours. </em> ” And the realisation washes over her colder than any ice could. “And these… these <em> walls-” </em> he spits. “These <em> treacherous </em> walls. Would keep my screams and <em> hoard </em> them.” </p><p>His voice cracks, and so does Veth’s heart as she takes one hesitant step forward. </p><p>“And they would stand there. Still, and silent. Listening to my screams. As over. And over. And over. And over and over and over andoverandoverandoverand<em> overandoverandfuckingover again </em> he would force those … those <em> damned crystals </em> <b> <em> into my flesh!”</em> </b></p><p>He’s screaming now, nails carving into the wood as he drags his grip along it, spit flying in movements too rehearsed to not have been done here before. </p><p>He breaks free of his trance to grab the buckles of the loose straps. “And <em> these </em> would <em> hold me!!!” </em> He rattles them furiously. <b> <em>“Hurt me!!!” </em> </b> As expected, they don’t come free of the chair, and he earns a matching slice to his other hand for his efforts- which only makes him laugh in a manner so maniacal that Veth halts in her approach. “Cut me!!!” He bursts! He chuckles! He crows and fractures and-! </p><p>He drops to his knees, hands grabbing at his hair as the sobs overwhelm him and Veth frets and- and sprints to the door, shakily grabbing for her dagger and securing the threshold just in case someone- anyone- hears but-</p><p>But she really doesn’t think they will. </p><p>She thinks. And thinks. And it’s hard because her <em> best friend </em> is a broken, shattered mess and she’s alone but - but she can tune it out. She can. She’s a mother. She’s … she’s tuned out crying before. She can do it again. And it, she laughs bitterly, it takes an <em> enormous </em> amount of effort to turn away from Caleb like that but they <em> need </em> to get out of here. </p><p>The window. Eodwulf said the window- She darts past Caleb and looks out. It’s a little high up - <em> fuck</em>. Looking around for something- anything - </p><p>The fucking chair would be <em> great </em>but it’s bolted to the floor and she doesn’t want to think about that right now- </p><p>There’s nothing else not even a table or box or book case what the <em> fuck</em>. Grumbling, she searches her component pouch and draws out what she needs. Casting quickly through snot and sniffles, she levitates and gets a better look at where they are. </p><p>The north end of the tower. They’re at the north side- and there! A straight beeline to the trees! Adjusting her altitude upwards she looks down through the glass. She can’t see the fence, they must be almost right up against it!</p><p>The window is about three feet wide and four up, give or take and - she fiddles with the lock - <em> open</em>!</p><p>The fresh air hits her so hard she shudders but <em> it’s right there</em>, their escape!</p><p>Now just for- She turns and drops levitate. Caleb has stopped sobbing and pulled himself to standing without leaning on <em> it. </em> If it weren’t for the fact that he had been an absolute mess only moments ago- she would have thought him a statue with how deathly still he was. </p><p>Putting her feet back on the ground, Veth tentatively approaches him, making sure to stay in his line of sight so he (hopefully) recognises that she means no harm. </p><p>“Caleb?” she whispers, just out of arm’s reach of him now. “Cay-cay?” <em> That </em> sparks something in him. And he turns to look at her almost mechanically. “Heeey! Hey you! You- uh.. You- well, obviously you’re not doing-” she coughs, her own throat still sore from her own crying. “Listen- I’ve got a way out. We’re going to jump and Feather Fall right into the trees. It’s nearly sunrise so we’ve still got a little bit of darkness to cover, okay? We need to be quick though because I don’t think we’ve got long. Do you- do you <em> understand </em>me?”</p><p>He stares at her, blinking only once and it’s a look so long she starts to repeat it- </p><p>“We have maybe seventeen minutes until sunrise. I think,” he states. </p><p>“Oh! Oh hey that’s- Yeah! That’s great! That’s plenty of time! Yeah! Yeah we can - we can totally do this!” </p><p>He nods, in a daze, and she reaches for his hand. He lets her take it. It’s slick with blood but she doesn’t let go. She daren’t. Not when he tightens it for just a moment. She’ll take what she can get. </p><p>Just like when she was teaching Luc to walk, she starts pulling him ever so gently towards her. In his dream-like state he comes easily, almost fluidly, and she can tell he just needs to rest now. Well they’ll float to the trees, hole up under some fauna, sleep until he’s recovered some and then get away from here to find the others.  </p><p>Just like old times. </p><p>She pulls him to the window, and lets him take a long look at their escape route, whispering the plan again to make sure he’s got it. </p><p>“Now, it’s a bit of a squeeze this window so I think it’d be best if I climb up first and then you jump out with me, or I piggy-back onto you and you climb out.” And she’s in full on mother mode now, calmly explaining their direction and intentions in her most soothing voice. She doesn't know who it’s calming more- him or her. He nods, and nods, just staring at the mountains and forest waiting to hide them away from this fucking horrible place. </p><p>He even accedes in giving her a boost onto the window sill.</p><p>Veth doesn’t really <em> suffer </em> vertigo, but even she has to admit that being on the third floor of a tower she’s about to deliberately jump out of… well even her knees give a little wobble. She turns to face Caleb, feather out and arms waiting. </p><p>He almost comes to her immediately. Almost. One knee is on the sill, then two, and she has to back up a <em> little </em> to make room for him and she’s praying to <em> any </em> god listening - even the Traveller- to <em> not have a strong gust of wind right now</em>. He looks at her and there’s a small clarity she sees spreading in his eyes as he extinguishes the globe. There’s… there’s a spark of her <em> Caleb </em> there that she’s glad this place couldn’t put out. </p><p>She reaches out, ready for him to push them both- </p><p>And then he’s turning, clapping his hands together and sending a fireball straight for the centre of the chamber. </p><p>She has no time to react as the blast blows them both clean out of the window- brick and glass shattering around them in the resulting explosion and it’s only by sheer fucking <em> luck </em> that she manages to keep a hold of her feather and remember to grab Caleb and cast their saving grace. </p><p>His body takes the brunt of whatever damage was inflicted and awkwardly they’re both floating at a sharply descending angle but- but then they’re clean over the fence! And the guards don’t even <em> see </em> them too focussed are they on the smoking building and there’s yelling and shouting and they’re so close to the <em> trees! </em> </p><p>Their landing is less than graceful. Caleb all but collapses on her before he’s staggering up and dragging her to the treeline without looking back. They can hear the shouts and cries of the organised chaos behind them and by the time they break into the underbrush, the first efforts of sunlight are starting to creep into the sky. </p><p>They don’t stop. Not when they trip. Not when they stumble. Not when they crash their knees into sodden mud or sharp rock. Not when they slip on slimy moss, or when they are whipped along by branch after branch. Not until their throats are haggard with exertion and legs trembling with adrenaline do they stop and even then they crawl a few more feet. </p><p>She lies facing skyward, not caring for the cold creeping in at the back of her dress or legs. Not caring for the light sheen of rain now misting over them. She closes her eyes, hearing them pant and pant, relishing in the cooling dawn and absorbing what the <em> fuck </em>they just pulled off. </p><p>She starts when he shuffles to a sitting position, pulling back to sit against rough bark. His hair sticks to his face messily and she watches his face scrunch up as all the pain and physical toll of the last night start to catch up with him. </p><p>Veth outright jumps when he starts to laugh. </p><p>It’s not the maniacal, hollow laugh from before. It’s a hearty one, from deep in his belly. It pulls at his face is a grimace with the pain, but his cheeks are wide and he’s showing his teeth and she’s filled with a hope that had otherwise been absent until this point. </p><p><em> He’s going to be okay, </em> was her only thought. <em> They got him out. </em> </p><p>He was a fucking state, don’t get her wrong. His hands were caked in dirt and mud now, sleeves beyond repair. His hair was a tangled nest, wet or not. This man was very different to the composed, collected one she had entered that godsforsaken place with for sure. All grace had fled him, his back slouched again and his face was filled with a light, airy attitude that only <em> Caleb </em> could exude- <em> not </em>Bren. </p><p>She could feel her face pulling into a whimper at the sight, so <em> beautiful </em>he was like that. </p><p>“We did it. We actually did it.” He remarks and finally, <em> finally </em> looks at her. “We did it, mein freund.” </p><p>And she sobbed then because he <em> really was going to be okay. </em> Whether he was startled when she scrambled to throw herself into his arms she doesn’t know because her face buried into his shoulder and he awkwardly pats her back. </p><p>Just like old times. </p><p>It was too uncomfortable to stay like that for too long, so she instead settled beside him, resting her head against the same tree. The thick canopy above shielded them from most of the rain now picking up and she only felt brief spots every now and then. </p><p>She didn’t realise she was dozing until she felt Caleb shift beside her and jolt her. </p><p>“Do you have a writing implement?” </p><p>She blinked once, twice- looking down she saw he had two books open - one his own that she recognised and another alien to her. </p><p>“Uh, no I don’t- oh. Oh wait!” She fishes at her belt and brings out the pencil Beau had leant her before the attack in the laboratory. It was a bit blunt, but that seemed enough for Caleb. </p><p>“Danke,” he utters, taking it from her grip. Immediately he bends back over and starts scribbling. She glances at the alien book but it’s all in Zemnian - she thinks - and of some important interest to him. </p><p>“Caleb don’t you think you sh-sho-,” she’s interrupted by a yawn. “Rest?” </p><p>He doesn’t answer her. </p><p>Part of her is worried- worried that he’s not going to be able to get them home soon. They still need to find the others. Speaking of which, Caleb had asked for a message…</p><p>“Cay-cay, you heard from Jester yet?” He gives a shake of his head, but otherwise remains silent and continues penning. “How long were we away from them?” </p><p>“It’s been just over two hours since we parted,” he rattles off. Maybe they’re also resting, she thinks. She hopes. Well, they’ll get in a short stop to recover a little and set off towards the camp where they agreed to meet. Hopefully they’ll find something there. </p><p>Giving him one last longing glance, Veth succumbs to her body’s desperate desire to crash and falls back into a light slumber against her friend. </p><p>Just like old times. </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Veth doesn’t realise she’s<em> asleep- </em>asleep until she’s hearing an intrusive voice-</p><p>“-And uh- how you are both doing, if you’re okay? Safe? We’re home now. You can uh, reply...to this message?”</p><p>“Wha - Caducey? Izzat you? Whuhtimeizzit- “ and she looks around, remembering- “O<em>h! </em>Caduceus! We’re out! We’re in forest! Resting! Be home. Soon! Fire still bad!” she signs off. She says it all out loud, standing up as though he was right beside her asking- </p><p><em> Caduceus </em> messaging her? That’s- That’s <em> weird. </em> </p><p>It doesn’t take but a moment for Veth to recall the arc of blood leaving Jester’s throat as the doctor sliced it clean open. Ah. She- right. <em> Wow</em>. Must be bad if Jester can’t send messages. </p><p>“Caleb did you- Caleb?” Panic drenches her in a second as she looks around. Caleb is nowhere to be seen. The spot she had been sleeping in absent of any of his effects or - or <em>anything</em>. “Caleb?!” she cries, not caring for being loud. <b>“</b><b><em>Caleb-!”</em></b> and it’s almost a choke because she shouldn’t have fallen asleep she shouldn’t have taken her eye off of him he was a fucking <em>mess</em> of course he wasn’t going to be okay immediately afterwards oh gods- </p><p>“What? What’s wrong-?” the voice comes from a little to her right and she sees him emerge from around a tree, eyes wild and looking about one hand ready to cast and the other at his belt holding it up-</p><p>“I- You- you weren’t here and I-”</p><p>The stare he gives her is short before it softens and he continues to right himself. “My apologies, Mother Nature could not wait.”</p><p>Veth sinks to her knees. The damp and cold are no stranger to her, but she finds herself shivering anyway. She <em> thought- </em>She squeezes her eyes closed, pressing her palms hard against them. ‘Rest’ was a misnomer for whatever she just had. She’s so fucking tired. </p><p>“How long have I been out?” </p><p>“A few hours-” and looking up she can see that the canopy is lit up with what could probably be a midday sun for all she knows. “I was about to wake you after I was done.”</p><p>“Oh. Okay… I uh-,” she huffs, still calming down. “Oh! I had a message from Caduceus- they’re home! I - I don’t know <em> how </em>but they are.”</p><p>Caleb gives a nod. “Mm. Ja. That’s good. That’s good news.” He’s tapping his mouth thoughtfully, calculating something. She expected something a <em> little </em> more than that. </p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“Hmm? Nothing. Just- I think we need to go this way for a bit. There’s something I need from near the camp before...” </p><p>Wordlessly she stands and begins to follow when he turns and starts to walk. It’s slow. All the fight has left them, and their energy reserves were lower than ever, rest or not. Every muscle she had was throbbing with some ache or other- whether from injury, over-exercise or rough sleeping she didn’t know. Caleb felt the same given his sluggish motions and occasional grunt as they had to climb over root and rock. He was limping slightly, arms barely lifting beyond shoulder level. </p><p>She couldn’t <em> wait </em> to get into the hot tub and feel those steaming, relaxing waters work their magic. </p><p>Her hair felt grotty and tangled where it’d come loose from her braids. She was sure she was missing a few buttons here and there. Her dress needed <em> burned </em>at this point, it was beyond salvation. And even if she did wash it, she would also remember everything that happened last night every time she wore it- </p><p>No. It was getting burnt. Destroyed. She wanted no reminder whatsoever that this place exists. </p><p>Being outside in the light, in the fresh air, in the <em> open freedom </em> of the forest, Veth was taking breaths by the lungful. She couldn’t do that in those torturous dungeons. She didn’t want any of it in her, near her, around her. <em> Any </em>breath was too much. Here she gulped it best she could to attempt to cleanse her body as they went. </p><p>It took maybe upwards of an hour to complete their trek. Sore and bruised as they were- for Caleb’s tunic was <em> covered </em>in scorch marks from that final destructive act (something she was going to chide him heavily for later) - they finally started coming up to terrain a little more recognisable. Seeing their camp, or what was left of it, filled her with a strange joy because it was just further confirmation of how far away they were getting from the Sanatorium. </p><p>But Caleb didn’t stop there, just skirted around it and headed upwards again. </p><p>They ended up at the pond. Huh. </p><p>She almost went to instinctively wash all the grime and muck off, cold water be damned, but she was stopped by the sight of two crossbow bolts in a tree that had been roughed up somehow. <em> They  w</em>eren’t there yesterday. </p><p><em> Yesterday</em>. Had all that truly happened in a single night? It felt like weeks. </p><p>“Ah-” Veth turns just in time to see Caleb kneel and hold out his hand. She watchs as a little - a little black <em> rat </em>comes scurrying forward to sniff at it. Frumpkin!</p><p>She calls his name and kneels down- and is surprised when the rat forgoes his master to come scurrying up to her, squeaking and twitching and shivering. Instinctively she picks up him and tucks him under her collar, cooing as she goes. “What’s the matter, Frumpy?” She gives Caleb an inquisitive look, but he’s staring blankly at her fussing. “Caleb?”</p><p>He blinks. “I asked him to go to you because I need to set up the circle. Please hold onto these,” and he takes out his new books, handing them over. Wedged between them, she sees, are sheets of paper that, after a quick glance, do <em> not </em> possess his handwriting but are still in Zemnian. Hmm. </p><p>Veth chitters at Frumpkin while she watches Caleb work. He locates a sheet of mostly flat rock that he is able to transcribe onto and gingerly takes the time he needs to form their way home. </p><p>It takes longer than his usual ten minutes. His movements are sluggish, and stiff. His tunic is scorched from taking the brunt of the fireball, but he doesn’t seem burnt through them. By the time he’s done, he’s breathing heavily and clutching his side with a stitch. Her face had long-twisted into a grimace and not for the first time she wished she knew higher-level magic to help him. He waves her over weakly, gritting his teeth. She steps up onto the mostly-complete circle.</p><p>“Ta- take these - th- they hurt-” he struggles to undo his belt and holster, audibly relaxing once they’re off his person. </p><p>Now that it’s been a few hours, his face is also forming a nice, dark red-purple bruise. She imagines it’ll take a while for it to come into its full fruition- Beau’s punches were no joke. Judging by his wincing <em> at </em> his wincing, he was really feeling it too. She hoped it wasn’t a broken bone. Well, the clerics can fix him up soon enough. </p><p>She couldn’t help but chuckle. Escaping pursuers, dodging dangers, sleeping all rough and tumble afterwards. </p><p>“Just like old times, hey Lebby?” </p><p>He gives her a long look from head to toe before his grimace softens to the closest thing to a smile he can muster. </p><p>“Not quite, but almost. Thank you,<em>Veth Brenatto</em>.” Whatever emotion she starts to become overwhelmed with in the moment is quickly cut across with his continued instructions. “Wai- wait,” he spits through another wave of pain. “Get. Out. Your emblem,” he staggers through, hissing and clutching his side. The chalk was wet and damp in his hand from where he used it and she didn’t want him to redo the whole thing because she was slow so she dumped her load at her feet and quickly dug into her back pouches to pull out the emblem of the Bright Queen. </p><p>“Good idea,” she compliments. True enough this isn’t her first return to Rosohna since transforming but why take the risk - especially if it’s just her and Caleb without the rest of the Nein. Gingerly he takes his out too. </p><p>“Ready?” He asks. </p><p>“Ready!” and she starts to pick up some of his pieces- and a piece of amber falls out of the holster. “Woops-” but he’s doing the last chalk score and standing up straight, and the ground is falling away from her as she’s pulled upwards and inwards away from the forest away from the Sanatorium until equilibrium is redistributed amongst her senses and she blinks- </p><p>In the warmer confines of the Lucid Bastion. </p><p>The guards startle- as expected- but back up as she raises her emblem. “Just us!” She calls, exhilerated with the success of their escape! "Just us," she states again, sure that they look an absolute fright but she doesn't care because they're <em>home and alive.</em></p><p>She continues to pick up the rest of the books and paper and turns around to ask Caleb for a hand- </p><p>But there’s no one behind her as she expected. Straightening she waits for a heartbeat. </p><p>Two. </p><p>Three.</p><p>Ten. </p><p>A minute. </p><p>By now she’s staring around the room, wondering if he appeared somewhere else somehow- </p><p>He - </p><p>He was <em> right </em> at the … the edge of the circle. He just … just needed to crawl in. Right? </p><p>
  <em> Right?! </em>
</p><p>“C-Caleb?” The guards are bewildered but on alert. "<em>Caleb?!”</em></p><p>Everything in her arms clatters to the floor as she spins and twists, begging him to appear. He can do a new circle he’ll draw a new one he’ll <em>be</em> here- </p><p>And then something catches her eye at her feet. The amber. One, two- five pieces. </p><p>His- his holsters. His new books. Beau’s pencil. Beneath her collar Frumpkin chirps. </p><p>
  <em> His familiar.</em>
</p><p>Everything that made him a wizard. With <em>her. </em></p><p>A second Emblem of the Bright Queen laying still as though it was tossed at her.</p><p><em> Deliberately. </em> </p><p>The next sound to leave her throat isn’t his name. It’s a twisted howl of anguish. It’s grief, and pain, and loss. It envelops her and consumes her leaving her an angry husk, pounding on the floor until bloody prints appear and stronger arms have to come pull her away. </p><p>He’d distracted her with <em>emotions</em>, and <em>names</em>, and <em>feelings</em>, and <em>acting</em> to pull her in com-fucking-pletely- one last con together. And she fell for it, hook, line and sinker. </p><p>He really put all of his trust, and his belongings, and faith in her and her naivety to see only the good in him to pull it off. </p><p>Just like old times.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Two chapters were published today! Please make sure you've read the finale in chapter 16 before this &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It might take a little while, as I’m still sorting delicate details,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this is not the end at all. It will not stop on a dire note like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their story will continue in the upcoming Essek-centric fanfic</span>
</p><p>
  <span>About grief, love, acceptance, understanding, and healing, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the immediate aftermath of all of </span>
  <em>
    <span>that:</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b> “A Reason To Fight”</b>
</p><p>
  <span> Part II of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>How To Save A Wizard </span>
  </em>
  <span>Series.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thank you all for your incredible support </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On </span>
  <em>
    <span>That Carnivorous Dark.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You don’t know just how much it</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wasn’t possible without you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’re amazing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’re loved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’ll be okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I </span>
  <em>
    <span>promise.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Cers x</span>
</p><p>
  <span>&lt;3</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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